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For Young Folks 



Part I., November, 18S4, to April, 1S85. 



Copyright, 13S5, by The Century Co. 

Press of Theo. L. De Vinnh & Co. 
New- York. 

Library, Univ. ef 





Six Months — November, 1884, to April, 18S5. 



Agassiz Association _ 78 

157. 237> ji/' 394, 476 

Agassiz Association, The First Convention of the Harlan H. Ballai-d 68 

Among The Law-makers. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers and others) Edmund Alton 56 

13S, 213, 2SS, 383, 455 

Art and Artists, Stories of. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clemen/ . i^jz, 302 

Asking a Blessing. Picture 48 

B.ABY Deb "P'.ws" for the Christmas Goose. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) yo/;/; /i'. Coryell 226 

Baby Sleeps at Home. Song James R. Murray 231 

B.ACK Again. Poem. (Illustrated) Celia Thaxter 412 

Bicycle Boys, The. Verses Joel Stacy 49 

Boys' Club, The. (Illustrated by W. II. Drake) Charles Barnard 439 

Brownies' Return, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 29S 

"Cat Nancy's" Folks. (Illustrated by F. Bellew) Louise Stockton 35S 

Child and the Year, The. Poem Celia Thaxter 161 

Children of the Cold. (Illustrated by Walter Bobbett l Lieut. Frederick Schunilka, 2,(>i,^(>^ 

Circe's Auctio.n. A play William HL. Baker 30S 

City of the Bended Knee, The. (Illustrated by J. Pennell) Frank R. Stockton 127, 281 

Class in Natural History, A. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 103 

Conscientious Cat, The. (Illustrated by H. Sandham and others) .Agnes .-{. Sandham 407 

Cooking Class, The. (Illustrated by H. Copeland and W. Taber) Louisa M. Alcott 11 

Cruise of the Pir.ate-ship " ilooNRAKER," The. (Illustrated by \V. H. ) ,. , „ 

^ ^ , r. Marshall \l kite ^2 

Drake) S ^ 

Davy and the Goblin. (Illustrated by F. B. Bensell) Charles Carryl 93 

162, 250, 333 

Dear Little School-ma'am, .\. Verses. (Illustrated by 1). Clinton Peters) . J/iz/ro/w /Awer&f _ i(3c 

Dozen Little Dolls, A. Jingle. (Illustrated) />'.// 53 

Driven Back to Eden. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch, W. II. Drake and ? „ r. 

^ ' ' : E. I\ Roe 241 

others) ) 

' llh 4=3 

Easter Lilies. Picture, drawn by Jessie McDermott 406 

Easter. Morning. Pictures, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 448, 449 

Elephants, Some Wonderful. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) C. F. Holder 224 

I" Eliz.aBETH of Tudor. (Illustrated by George Foster Barnes) E. S. Brooks 208 

_j English Kings in a Nutshell. Verses. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) . . .Gail LLamilton 265 

Falling Leaves. Poem Agnes L. Carter 73 

(JO Fanchon's German. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Eleanor Putnam 204 

" First Convention of the .\gassiz Association, The Llarlan H. Ballard 6S 




Five Little Maids. Jingle. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Alice Bucll 439 

Flight of Time, The. Pictures, drawn by E. W. Kcmble 240 

Foiled ! Pictures, drawn by Edgar M. Bacon 400 

Fool's Wisdom, A. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Jo/iiison 444 

For B.-vss-wood Chaps. Poem Jok?t Faiice Cheney 171 

"For Must Pipe While Others Dance." Picture, drawn by Kose Mueller 37 

From Bach to Wag.ner. (Illustrated) Igatlia Tunis 462 

Joliann Sebastian Bach 462 

Frowns or Smiles? Verses \. Sydney Dayre 2S8 

Gilded Boy, The. (Illustrated by W. St. John Harper) ..R. Leigliton Gcrliart 403 

"Go-as-you-please" Race, A. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 160 

"Grand Pacific, The." Verses Bessie Cliamller 462 

Great Expect.atio.ns. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 480 

Growk-UP Land. Verses Jennie E. T. Dcnue 367 

Hand-organ Man's Little Girl, The. Poem //. H. (Helen Jackson) 92 

Hare and the Tortoise, The. (Illustrated byH. Copeland and W. .Louisa M. Alcath 109, 177 

Hark! Hark! Hear the Dogs Bark! Picture, drawn by Harry Beard 3S3 

His One Fault. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) J. T. TrcnohriJge 4 

133. 1S7, 272, 352, 413 

Historic Girls. (Illustrated) E. S. Brooks 208, 433 

Elizabeth of Tudor : The Girl of the Hertford Manor 208 

Zenobia of Palmyra: The Girl of the Syrian Desert 433 

Hooray' ! After the Rain Comes the "Shine"! Picture, draw n by Culmer Barnes 480 

House that Jack Built, The. Poem. ( Illustrated and engrossed by A. \ r ^ j o 

■' ' ^ (■ Ogden ^8 

Brennan) ) 

How Ernest and Theodore Heard the Seventh Symphony'. (lUus- ? , .• ^, ^- , 

^ \- Austui Cliapni, Jr 368 

trated by E. W. Kemble and G. R. Halm) S 

How Sant.a. Claus Found the Poor-house. (Illustrated by W. II. > r. • o 

^ ■' Sophie Swell 321 

Drake) ) 

"I PI.AVE a Little Laddie." Jingle Miss J. Hopkins 447 

Imprisoned in an Iceberg. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) . .C. E. Holder 143 

Inquisitive Benjamin. Jingle. (Illustrated by Oliver Herford) C.Lloyd 320 

Isle of Content, The. Poem .S'. Conant L'oster 32 

Jingles 47, 53, 63, 80, 132, 271, 297, 320, 326, 383, 411, 439, 447 

King's Feast in Rufus's Hall, The. ( Illustrated by Alfred FredericUs). .. Henry Angustus Adams 136 

LlESEL. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Mrs. Julia Schaycr 343 

Light that is Felt, The. Poem John G. IVhitlier 81 

Little Kin*:. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) 1/. C. Griffis 327 

Little Knigpit, The. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 279 

Little Mischief. Jingle. (Illustrated) Bessie LLill .. . 47 

Little Old Man of Dyre, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Walter Bolibett 132 

Little Red-Riding-Hood and the Febru.ary Wolf. Picture, drawn by ? 

Jessie Curtis Shepherd ^ 

Little Sailor Jack in England. (Illustrated) //'. Thornton Parker, M. L) . 420 

Little Unknown, The. Poem. (Illustrated by George Foster Barnes) Charles T. Congdon 112 

Lorraine's Reason. Verses Emma C. Dowd 18 

"Love is Blind." Verses .Bessie Chandler 452 

Maisy's Christmas. Poem. (Illustrated by G. F.Barnes) Celia Tha.xter 196 

" Making Up." Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 308 

Menhaden Sketches: Summer at Christmas-time. (Illustrated by the ^ Marv Hallock Eoote 116 

Author) S' 

MET.A.LLIC Band-work and Nails in Decor.ation. (Illustrated by the } r-i 1 r 1 j 

\ Lnarles G. Lelana 05 

Author) S 

MlKKEL. (Illustrated by H. 1'. Share and T. Thulstrup) Hjalmar Iljorth Boyesen . . . . 28 

125, 198 

Mongol .vnd the Maiden, Tpie. Verses. (Illustrated by D. Clinton Peters) ,//£■/<,'« Cny Cpw 124 

" Moonraker," The Cruise of the Pirate-ship. (Illustrated by W. H. \ p i/^^^j^n ;|7„y^ ,2 

Drake) \ 





My Valentine. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) IT. T. Peters 259 

Ned's Calendar. Poem Maiy N. Prescotl 230 

Nicholas Alexandrovitch, Crow.v Prince of Russia. (Illustrated) EJim Dean Proctor 147 

No Longer a Baby. Picture, drawn by Calmer Barnes 250 

"Oh, Lady Moon!" (Illustrated by Julia W. Lee) CJirislina G. Rossetti 125 

On an Ice-yacht. (Illustrated by W. Taber) E. Vinton Blake 192 

One, Two, Three I Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Walter Bobhcit 63 

"0 Uncle Philip! " (Illustrated by R. Swain Gifford and Fanny E. Gifford i .-///Vc Wclliiigton Rollins. . 181 

Painting, A Talk About. (Illustrated by engravings from paintings by the } .i,,,,^ Merritt 85 

Author) \ 

Personally Conducted. (Illustrated) Frank R. Stockton .. x'i, 127, 281 

Romans, but not Rome, The 18 

City of the Bended Knee, The 127, 28 1 

Pictures 10, 28, 37, 48, 103, 160, 172, 240, 250, 271, 30S, 320, 333, 372, 383, 400, 406, 448, 449, 4S0 

Pop-corn Dance, The. Song. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) Tames C. Johnson 149 

. Postman, The. Verses. (Illustrated by W. T. Peters) La a ra E. Richards 186 

Princess's Holiday, The. Poem. (Illustrated by R. U. Birch) A'ora Perry i 

Prize for Every One, .\. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Isabel McDoiigall 411 

Prize Story for Girls, to be Written by a Girl, A 68 

Prize Stories for Girls, The — Report of the Committee 474 

Pussy and the Cat-nip Ball. Picture, drawn by J. G. Francis 320 

Queer Coasting-place, A. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) E. George Sqiiier 46 

Queer Partnership, A. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) C. F. Holder 280 

Quite Prudent. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 64 

Ralph's Winter Carnival. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) George A. Buffum 284 

Ready for Business; or, Choosing an Occupation George J. Manson 49, 450 

Retail Drug Store, A , . - 49 

Practical Chemist, A 450 

Report of the Prize Story Co.MiMiTTEE 474 

Revery in Grandmamma's Garret, A. Picture, from a photograph 333 

Robin and the Chicken, The. Verses Grace F. Coolidgc 461 

Romans, but not Rome, The. (Illustrated by J. Pennell) Frank R. Stockton iS 

School-master and the Truants, The. Verses. (Illustrated by A. B. > ^, , „ ^ „ , 

„ ' \ Charles R. Talhot 221 

Frost) ^ 

Skaters' Song. Verses C. Alexander Nelson 171 

Snow-man, The. Verses Gi-ace F. Coolidge 116 

Something Between a Goose and a Peacock. Picture 400 

Some Wonderful Elepha.nts. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) C. F. I/older 224 

Spinning-wheel Stories. (Illustrated) Lonisa M. Alcott .11, 109, 177 

Cooking Class, The II 

Flare and the Tortoise, The 109, 177 

Startling Discovery, A. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 28 

St. Nicholas Alm.^nac, The. (Illustrated by Jessie McDcrmott) Royal and Barr Hilt 72, 150 

Stories of Art and Artists. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement . .1-2. 302 

Sweet Miss Industry. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch).. S". Conant Foster 104 

"Take Home a Fry in a Box." Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 172 

Talk About Painting, A. (Illustrated by engravings from paintings by the ji \nm L-a V-rr-tt 8- 

Author) " """ ^ 

Tea-cup Lore. (Illustrated from tea-leaf pictures by the Author) C. C. Ward 54 

Tell-tale, The lllan Forman 229 

Trials of a Barber, The. Jingles. (Illustrated by the .\uthor) J. G. Francis So 

Truly Repentant. Verses. ( Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcohn Douglas 351 

Tyrant Tacy A'ora Perry 260 

"Uncle Ben." Poem. (Illustrated by R. Wiles') Mary Bradley 453 

Uncle John's Coat. Verses.. (Illustrated bv the .\uthor) Cecilia BeaiLx 203 

Velocipede Express, The. Verses. (Illustrated by W. M. Cary) loci Stacy 326 

Visiting S.A.NTA Claus. Poem. (Illustrated by George Foster Barnes) Lucy Larcom 82 

Walnut Eyes. (Illustrated by the .-Vuthor) Henry W. Troy 77 




What the Philosopher Said on Christmas-day Mrs. IV. H. Daniels 145 

What Wakes the Flowers? Poem Celia Thaxtcr 331 

Who 's Afraid in the Dark? Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Mrs. A. J. Foster 419 

Wild March Hare, The. Picture, drawn by P. Newell 372 

Wl.,L.:i\v-\VARF, Poem. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch from de- \ Cogswell. . . 25 

signs by Jeanie Lea Southwicli) S 

Winter D.VYS. Jingle. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) Julie M. Lippmann 297 

Work and Play for Young Folk. 

Metallic Band-work and Nails in Decoration. (Illustrated by the Author) . C//ifr/t j C Leland. 65 

Prize Story for Girls, to be Written by a Girl, A 68 

Youngest Guest the Thanksgiving Dinner, The. Picture, drawn ^ 

by D. Clinton Peters ^ 

Zenobia of Palmyra. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. S. Bivoks 433 


Jack-in-the-Pulpit ( Illustrated). 

Introduction — How the Swallows Punished the Sparrows — A Cat Punished by Rollins — The "Spouting 
Rock" at Newport — A Query Concerning Ants — A Mystery — Honey at Large — Another Hanging Honey- 
comlj, 74; Introduction — Who Can Explain? — A Good Man's Advice — A Bird with an Overcoat (illus- 
trated) — A Letter from a Big Dog, 154; Introduction — How Geese are Sent a-fishing — About Lady-apples 

— The King of the Apple-trees — " If " — .A Bird Without Wings — The Blackbirds' Visit — A Prudent Spider 

— A Mended Butterfly — The Ant Question — A Live Jewel (illustrated) — A Singing Mouse, 234; Intro- 
duction — The Sea as a Postman — .A Pair of Grosbeaks — Who Can Answer ? — Personal Observation — A 
Squirrel Orchestra (illustrated) — .\ Long Freeze — A Herring Feast, 314; Introduction — Why Golden 
Horn (illustrated) — Why Golden Gate? 392; Introduction — A Big Drink for So Little a Fellow — The 
Lady-apples Heard From — .\ Funny Foster-mother — .\n Illuminated Frog (illustrated), 470. 

P'or Very Little Folk (Illustrated). 

"Ha, Ha, Ha! Off They Go 1 " 70 — Madie's Christmas, 152 — The Brownies Helping Jack Frost; Oh, Look 
at this Great Big Tiger ! 232 — The Windmill, 312 — Fly the Feathers, 399 — My Little House, 472. 

The Letter-box (Illustrated) 77, 156, 236, 316, 396, 475 

The Riddle-bo.\ (Illustrated) 75, 158, 23S, 31S, 397, 478 

Editorial Notes 77, 236, 316, 396, 474 

OuK Music Page. 

Pop-corn Dance James C. Johnson 149 

Baby Sleeps at Home James R. Murray 231 


"Great Grandmother's Girlhood," facing Title-page of Volume, from a painting by A. M. Turner — "The In- 
fanta Marguerita Maria," from the painting by Velasquez, facing page 81 — " Portrait of a Child, in Bas-relief," 
from a medallion by Augustus St. Gaudens, facing page 161 — " Beggar Boys at Play," from the painting by 
Murillo, facing page 241 — "The Inauguration of President Garfield," by W. A. Rogers, facing page 321 — 
" The Gilded Boy," by W. St. John Harper, facing page 403. 


Vol. XII. NOVEMBER, 1S84. No. i. 

[Copyright, 1884, by The CENTURY CO.] 

By Nora Perry. 

Up from broidery frame and book 
The Princess lifted a longing look. 
Green were the fields that stretched before 
The castle gate and the castle door ; 
And soft and clear the tinkling call 
Of sheep-bells over the castle wall ; 
And sweetly, cheerily rose the song 
Of the shepherd lad, as he strolled along 
By his nibbling flocks: — "Come hither, come 

He lightly sang. " And \vhither, and whither 
I wander, I wander, come follow, come follow ! 
Over the field and into the hollow ! " 

Down went broidery frame and book 
From the Princess' hands; and "Look, oh, 

She bitterly cried to her maidens there, — 
" At the beautiful world, so fresh and fair, 
From which we are shut out, day after day ! 
Oh, what would I give to go or stay. 
Hither and thither, away at my will ! 
To follow and follow over the hill. 
Where birds are singing, and sheep-bells ring- 

And lambkins over the grass are springing ! 

" The meanest peasant may have his will, 
To follow and follow over the hill ; 
But I, because I 'm a Princess born. 
In tiresome state from morn to morn 
Vol. XII.— I. 

Must wait, before I can go or stay. 

For lackey and guard to guide my way ! 

Oh, what would I give to have my will 

For once, just once, and over the hill. 

And through the long, sweet meadowy grass 

To scamper, as free as a peasant lass ! " 

What was it? — Did somebody whisper there? 
Or was it a bird that, skimming the air, 
Wickedly dropped a secret word 
That nobody but the Princess heard ? 
For up from broidery frame and book 
She suddenly springs with a joyous look ; 
" And listen ! " she cries, " Oh, listen to me ! 
This is a day of victory ! 
For this day year the good news came 
That the brave French troops had put to shame 
The Spanish foe, and I heard him say — 
My father, the King — that on this day. 
Sinner and saint, year after year. 
Should wander free, with never a fear. 
On the King's highway, till the sun had set." — 
She laughed a light, low laugh. — " 'T is yet 
Two hours and more ere the sun goes down. 
And the King comes back from the market- 

Where he went this morn ; — two hours and more. 
And the gate is wide at the castle door ! " 

They pranked themselves from head to foot 
In gay disguise — a page's boot 


T H E 

princess's holiday. 


And doublet fine to take the place 
Of silken shoon and the flowing grace 
Of a satin gown. — Then down they bore, 
These maiden troops, to the castle door. 

The grim old warders frowned and stared ; 
The pages laughed; the maids looked scared. 
But the merry girl-troopers carried the day, 
For who should say a Princess "Nay"? 

' But what if the King should come ? " one said, 

Shaking her little golden head ; 
' What if the King should come, alack. 

Before we are safely, snugly back?" 

The Princess stopped in her merry race. — 
' The King ? " she cried, with an arch grimace, 
' Let the King be told, if the King forgets, 

That through this day, till the June sun sets, 

'over the hill and into the HOLLOW- 


THE princess's HOLIDAY 


The broad highway is an open way, 
Where the Princess takes her hohday." 

Then, over the hills and into the liollow 
Where sheep-bells ring, they follow and 

The sun is fierce and the wind is strong. 
Yet " Hither, come hither ! " the shep- 
herd's song 
Beckons and beckons, now low, now loud. 
But the white dust blows in a swirling cloud. 
And who \\-ould have thought the way so long 
To follow and follow a shepherd's song? 

For it looked so near, the way he went. 
When one fi'om a palace window leant, 
So near, so near, — and now so far! 
The palace window shines hke a star ; 
And the meadowy grass that smelled so sweet. 
How it trips and tangles the tender feet ! 
And the hills, that seemed so smooth, are set 
With stubble and thorn that prick and fret. 

' Heigho, and heigho ! " the Princess cries, 
As she brushes the blinding dust from her eyes, 

' Suppose we turn on our homeward way; 
It must be near t<i the set of day!" 

Torn and draggled, the little pack 
Of truant troopers wandered back — 
Torn and draggled, weary and spent. 
Older and wiser than when they went. 

The Princess gained her chamber door. 
And out of her window leaned once more. 
Heigho, and heigho ! " she softly sighed, 
' The world is fair and the world is w ide 
For peasant and prince ; but let who will 
Follow and follow over the hill. 
I 've had enough, for one long day, 
Of my own sweet will .ind the King's high- 
wa)' ! " 




Bv J. T. Trowbridge. 




" Let the boy come and live with me, and I 
will be a. father to him," said Uncle Gray. 

He was a hook-nosed, wiry man, with weather- 
beaten cheeks, and a voice cracked by asthma, 
and made still more harsh by driving slow oxen 
all his life. The cheeks twitched a little, how- 
ever, and there was an unwonted softness in his 
tones, as he leaned back in his chair and ad- 
dressed these words to the weeping woman on 
the sofa. 

The weeping woman was his wife's brother's 
wife, or rather widow ; for it was now nine daj s 
since Christopher Downinicde, the village tin- 
smith, had scratched his thumb with a ragged- 
edged piece of metal, and three days since he 
had been carried to his grave, a victim of that 
mysterious and terrible disease, lockjaw. 

The boy alluded to was his son Christopher, 
better known in the village bv his nickname. Kit ; 

now sixteen years old, and capable, it was thought, 
of beginning to earn his own living. 

This it seemed quite necessary that he should 
do ; for the late Mr. Downimede, although a 
thrifty mechanic, had spent his earnings in the 
support of his family, and left but httle prop- 
erty, except some stock-in-trade and the house 
they lived in. 

"He can come and live with me," said Uncle 
Gray, " and be a farmer; I shall be glad enough 
to have somebody to shift the care and burden 
on in a few years. You can keep the younger 
childr'n in school, rent a part of your house, and 
take in a little sewin', and, I guess, get along. 
Here, Christopher ! Christopher ! " 

Hearing his uncle call. Kit, who was outside, 
came into the house. He was a rather bashful 
hoy, with plump, red cheeks, which showed a 
distressing tendency to blush on occasions of the 
least embarrassment, but which had been looking 
unusually colorless since the shocking calamity 





that had bereft him of the kindest of fathers. He 
was a Httle awed at the sight of his mother in tears, 
and of his uncle's solemn visage, but he advanced 
manfully to hear the result of the consultation. 

" I 've be'n thinkin' o' your case, Christopher," 
said Uncle Gray, " and talkin' to your ma about 
you. What's your idee o' gett'n' a livin'?" 

Poor Kit had to confess that he had n't any 
ideas on the subject. 

"You have n't any gre't hankerin' after an 
edecation, have ye ? " said Uncle Gray. 

"I don't know that I care to go to college," 
Kit replied. " Though if Pa had lived," — he 
choked a little,—" I suppose I should have kept 
on going to school two or three years longer." 

"To be sure; if he had lived." Uncle Gray 
coughed to clear his throat. But as 't is, it 's 
time for you to be considerin' what you 're a-goin' 
to make of yourself Ye don't fancy his trade 
pa'tic'larly, do ye?" 

"I don't fancy it at all," said Kit. "I don't 
care to be a tinner. " 

" So I thought. And I don't blame ye. Wal, 
now," continued Uncle Gray, " how would ye 
like the farm ?" 

"The farm?" said Kit. "What farm?" 

" Wal, f'r instance, my farm. I 've got a good 
place for ye there, if you 'd like to come. We 've 
no boys of our own, since Andy died," — the harsh- 
toned voice softened again, — " and your aunt Gray 
an' I have be'n thinkin' 't would be jest the thing 
fer ye to come and hve with us, and be like our 
own son, and graj'ally slip yer neck into the yoke as 
mine slips out. How do ye think ye would like it?" 

Kit had pleasant recollections of the farm, from 
having visited it often in sugar-making time and 
huckleberry time, and enjoyed the hospitalities of 
Uncle and Aunt Gray. 

" I think I should like it," he said, " only " — he 
caught his breath — " I don't want to leave Ma — 
just now." 

"That 's right, that 's right," said Uncle Gray 
approvingly. "Glad to hear ye say that. But 
ye can't live tied to her apron-strings all your life. 
It 's in the natur' of things that childr'n, 'specially 
boys, should strike out and do for themselves. 
Though yer livin' with me '11 be a'most like bein' 
't home ; you can come and see your ma, and 
your ma can come and see you, often enough. 
Think on 't, will ye ? And Ic' me know to-morrow, 
when I '11 be round ag'in." 

Think of it Kit did, with many a pang of grief 
at the recollection of his father, who had been so 
much more to him than he had ever dreamed until 
he came to need his love and counsel. 

" If he were only here to tell me what I 'd bet- 
ter do ! " he said to his mother, as they talked the 

matter over that night, in the sad loneliness of 
their little home. " I can't make it seem that he 
never will be here any more. But I know I shall 
have to depend upon myself now." 

"Yes, my son," said the widow in a stifled 
voice. "There never was a more upright man, 
nor a more generous man in his family, than your 
father, while he lived. But the prop of the house 
has been taken away. Heaven knows, I would 
gladly keep you with me, and do for you as he 
would have done, if it were in my power." 

The mother and son sobbed softly together in 
the gloomy silence. Then Kit said : 

" There 's no use wishing things could be differ- 
ent. I know I have got my living to work for, and 
I may as well work for it on Uncle Gray's farm 
as anywhere." 

" Uncle and Aunt Gray have always been kind 
to you," suggested the widow. 

"Yes, in their fashion," said Kit. "They're 
good-hearted folks. But a dollar looks pretty big 
to them. I believe the boy Uncle Gray is a father 
to," he added, after a little reflection, "will have 
to earn every dollar he gets of him. He and .^unt 
Gray work hard themselves, and don't believe 
much in anybody's sitting around on the clover- 
banks, watching the bees and butterflies. Even 
when I 've been visiting them, they have made me 
earn my board by doing lots of little chores. But I 
never much cared ; I like the farm, and I 've had 
good times out there. May be, I 'd better go ; for 
I don't know what else I can do. I shall be near 
you, and if I do well 1 can help you. Perhaps I 
can make a home for us all some day." 

When Uncle Gray called the next morning, he 
was "rejoiced," as he said, to hear that Kit had 
come to so sensible a conclusion. The widow was 
anxious to know just what he proposed to do for 
her boy, in the way of being " a father to him " ; 
but the worthy farmer was not prepared to meet 
that point. 

" Wait till we see how he takes hold," he said. 
" If he does well by me, I '11 do well by him ; you 
may count on that. The only way will be for him 
to come and try it a few months ; then we can 
settle the matter more definitely. We '11 see how 
useful he makes himself" 

The widow gave her bo)' much good advice 
when the time for parting with him arrived. 

"You 're a smart boy. Christopher, and you 're 
a well-meaning boy. You 're no shirk : and you 're 
strong and active. But you ha\ e one fault, which 
I 'm afraid will try your uncle's patience, as it has 
often tried your father's and mine — your heedless- 
ness. Why is it you are sometimes so forgetful of 
things, right under your eyes, that you are ex- 
pected to attend to ? " 




" I don't know," said Kit, ruefully. " But 1 
seem to be thinking of something else." 

" You must try not to be so absent-minded," 
the uido\v resumed, in a tone more of entreaty 
than of chiding. " Your uncle will not put up with 
your fault as your father and I have done. If you 
were a stupid boy, we should n't expect so much 
of you. But you 're anything but stupid ; you 're 
one of the brightest boys I ever saw, when you 
have your wits about you." 

Kit could not forbear a smile of gratification at 
this compliment, which was not ill-deserved. He 
had indeed a village reputation for his witty retorts. 
"Have you heard Kit's last joke?" was a com- 
mon query among the East Adam boys, always 
sure to excite curiosity and provoke a laugh. 


It was corn-planting time, and Kit had a good 
chance, to begin with, to show his uncle how 
"useful " he could be on the farm. He took the 
place of one hired man at the start, and lamed 
his back and blistered his hands, and was home- 
sick enough, during the first week. 

He was a plucky lad, however ; and when he 
went home on Stmday, he did not show his blisters, 
nor complain to his mother of the difference be- 
tween living ou the farm and visiting it occasion- 
ally. And when she said, with motherly concern, 
that she feared the work was too hard for him, he 
replied stoutly: "'It's pretty hard.' as the rat 
said of the old cheese-rind ; ■ but I guess I can 
stand it, if the cheese can.' 1 'm not like the 
boy who was apprenticed to a blacksmith, and, 
after blowing the bellows two days, said he \\as 
sorry he had learned the trade." 

The widow was cheered to see her boy in such 
brave spirits, and told him, with an aftectionate 
kiss, that he was the hope of her life. 

Inwardly resolved that she should not be disap- 
pointed in him, he returned to the farm, and soon 
worked off the lameness of his back, his home- 
sickness, and the tenderness of his palms. His 
muscles hardened, his joints grew strong, his 
hands became callous, and the longer he staid 
the better contented be was with the place. 

His one serious fault clung to him, however, and 
sorely vexed Uncle Gray, who one day declared: 

" You 're as willin' a youngster as ever I saw ; 
but the beatermost dunderpate in all creation. 
Now, there 's that grass-hook ; yc had it a-cutt'n' 
off the thistle-tops, and yc dropped it some- 
where, and, like as not, we never shall see it 
again. Why can't ye take care o' things ? " 

*.t-I don't know," Kit murmured penitentho '--5- 

"Ye forgit ! " Uncle Gray repeated sternly. 
■ ' Ye lost the whetstone afore that ; and I should 
think I scolded ye enough fer 't, so ye 'd 'a' be'n a 
little mite more careful." 

" I should think so, too ! " replied Christopher. 

"And where, f'r instance, do you think I found 
the iron rake that disappeared so strangely ? A- 
hangin' in the apple-tree, jest where you had 
used it last, a-pokin' at the worms' nests. It 
never '11 do in the world to go on at this rate ! 
Graj'ally things '11 go, and I sha'n't have a tool 
to lay my hands on, next I know. Be ve asleep, 
or what is the matter?" 

Kit smarted under these reproofs all the more 
because he felt they were deserved. He answered 
humbly : 

" I don't suppose I am a downright fool ; but I 
do believe there is a fool-streak in me. If I get 
my mind on one thing, I go off in a sort of dream, 
and mind nothing else. I '11 try to do better." 

"You must!" Uncle Gray insisted. " I want 
a boy I can depend on ; and I never can depend 
on one tViat goes blunderin' through the world in 
this way. Now, take my advice, and mind what 
you 're up to ! " 

Kit improved somewhat after this. Yet if a 
shovel was mislaid, or a heifer overlooked in the 
milking, or a calf left to bawl for its supper, Kit 
was always the culprit. 

So anxious was he to correct his bad habit that 
he used often to ask himself in the evening if there 
was anything he had neglected during the day, 
and would punish himself by attending to it then, 
if it were not too late. In this way he reminded 
himself, one night as he was going to bed, that 
when he took care of the horse after his uncle 
drove home from the village, he had knocked the 
whip out of the wagon, and had forgotten to pick 
it up. 

" 1 kno« just where it is," he said to himself; 
" and 1 'm not going to let Uncle Gray find it 
there in the morning and give me a scolding." 

He had undressed and put out the light. But 
he pulled his clothes on again in the dark, and 
went softly down-stairs, not ineaning to betray his 
blunder by disturbing the old folk, who had also 

He groped his way to the kitchen, and ran his 
fingers along the door-frame for the key of the 
stable, which was left there. He found it hanging 
securely on its nail ; for if there was one thing 
which Uncle Gray would never trust to anybody 
else, but always looked after himself, it was the 
locking up, at bed-time, of his barn and dwelling. 

The night was dark ; for though there was a 
moon, according to the almanac, the sky threat- 
ened rain, and a few sprinkles fell on Kit's hand as 




he reached out, feeling foi- the stable-door. This 
he unlocked, and passed on into the barn, where 
he felt the buggy all over, to make sure that he 
had not, in an absent-minded way, put the whip 
back into it. No ; it must be on the grass outside 
where it fell. 

He had kicked about in search of it as he ap- 
proached the barn ; but he now went out again 
and made a more thorough exploration with both 
feet and hands. He was rewarded after a little 
while by entangling his toes in the lash (he was 
barefoot) ; and with the comfortable consciousness 
of duty done, having put the whip in place, he 
groped his way back into the house. 

As he was on his way to the chamber-stairs, his 
uncle called out to him: " 'S that you, Christo- 
pher ? " 

" Yes, sir," Kit replied, and immediately turned 
to the water-pail, to provide himself with an ex- 
cuse for his untimely movements. 

" What are you prowling about the house after 
bed-time for ? " Uncle Gray demanded. 

" I 'm getting a drink of water," Kit said, suit- 
ing the action to the word. 

" Could n't you think of that afore you went to 
bed ? " growled Uncle Gray. " I wonder what you 
will forgit next ! " 

Alas, what had not Kit already forgotten in his 
anxiety to find the whip and get back to bed with- 
out arousing the old folks ! The morning was to 

He was awakened shortly after day-break by his 
uncle pounding on the stairs with a cane, which he 
kept for the purpose, and calling, " Come, boy, 
time to be stirrin' ! Goin' t' stay a-bed all day ? " 

Kit made a yawning answer, and was leisurely 
pulling on his trousers, when Uncle Gray came 
again to the stair-way, and the voice, rendered 
harsh by asthma and long experience in driving 
sluggish oxen, thundered forth : 

" Where 's the key to the stable ? D' yc knou- 
anything about it ? " 

" Is n't it there? " stammered the boy, remem- 
bering with consternation that he had used the kev 
the night before, but utterly unable to remember 
what he had done with it. 

" There ? Where } " shouted the angry uncle. 

" Hanging by the door," faltered Kit. 

He fumbled in his pockets as he sat on the bed, 
frightened, half-dressed, his hair tumbled, a pict- 
ure of comical dismay, which he perceived by the 
dim light when he raised his eyes to the looking- 
glass on the bare wall ; although he did not notice 
anything very comical in it at the time. 

" It a/a/ hangin' by the door ! " said Uncle 
Gray ; " though 1 'm sure I put it there last night. 
Have you had it since ? " 

"I — 1 believe — I did take it," the guilty one 
confessed, appearing at the head of the gloomy 
stair-way, jacket in hand. " But I thought 1 put it 
back again." 

"Thought ye put it back ag'in I " echoed Uncle 
Gray with savage sarcasm. " I wonder ye don't 
forgit to breathe some time. Look in yer pockets ! " 

Kit fumbled again helplessly. 

" Ve did n't leave it in the stable-door, did ye ? " 

" I don't know. 1 can't remember. I'm afraid 
1 did ! " he miserably confessed. 

" Don't know ! can't remember ! afraid ye did I " 
the ox-compcUing voice repeated, yet in tones the 
laziest ox, or indeed any creature on that well- 
ordered farm, except '• the beatermost dunderpate 
in all creation," had never yet called forth. 

Uncle Gray withdrew, stonning; and Kit, stoop- 
ing on the topmost stair, hurriedly putting on his 
shoes, could trace him all the way through sitting- 
room and kitchen, in the direction of the stable, 
by the wrathful ejaculations he let fall, dying away 
like rattling thunder in the distance. 

Kit followed without his hat, in the chill dawn, 
aware that retribution awaited him, but hoping 
that no serious harm had come of his neglect. 
That hope was quickly dispelled, however, as he 
approached the stable. 

His uncle had found the door unlocked, with the 
key in it. He had entered in haste, and was now 
rushing out again, his eyes glaring excitedly, and 
his features in a snarl of terrible wrinkles. 

" Now see what 's come o' your — " he began, but 
choked, or hesitated for a word weighty enough to 
express his wrath and alarm ; then spluttered forth : 

"Peskiness ! " 

At the same time he pointed at an empty stall. 

The guilty Christopher hurried forward and 
looked in. It was the stall of Dandy Jim, the one 
serviceable horse on the place ; and the horse had 
vanished in the night. 


" H,\s anything happened?" said Aunt Gray, 
a stoutish woman, with a large, round, kindly face, 
hooking her dress as she came out of the house, 
attracted by the little drama at the stable-door. 

Instead of answering her. LIncle Gray turned 
with fresh indignation on Kit. 

"What ever possessed ye to come out and un- 
lock the barn after 1 had once locked it up for 
the night ? " 

Kit explained that it was to pick up and put 
away the whip. 

"That was mighty important!" exclaimed 
L'ncle Gray. "Would n't the whip stay where it 
was till mornin', and no gre't harm done?" 




" I suppose so," replied Kit. " But I had made 
up my mind to take care of things the moment I 
thought of them; and I thought of that just as I 
was going to bed. I meant it for the best I " 
added the conscience-smitten boy. 

" Meant it for the best ! And so you saved the 
whip and let the horse be stole ! I never ! " And 
with a gesture of impatience Uncle Gray turned 
back into the barn. 

"What!" ejaculated Aunt Gray, who had fin- 
ished hooking her dress by this time,— a some- 
what formidable operation, — "the boss has n't 
been stole, has he ? " 

"I hope not; I don't see how he can have 
been," said Kit. "To think the thief should come 
just the very night when the door was left un- 
locked — I can't believe it ! " 

" You don't know how many times thieves may 
have come and found the door locked," said Aunt 
Gray. "Though it don't seem to me Dandy can 
be really stole ! Pa ! " — for so she called her hus- 
band, — " be ye sure ? " 

" Sure 's I want to be, and a good deal more 
so," he replied. " The mare is there, but the boss 
is gone, stole or not ; and the saddle and best 
bridle gone with him. A hundr'd and eighty 
dollars right out of my pocket, if it 's a penny ! " 

He turned once more on Kit. "The idee of 
your comin' out here at nine o'clock, unlockin' the 
stable, and leavin' the key in the door, as if to invite 
tramps and vagabonds to walk in and help them- 
selves ! I 've no patience with such stupidity 1 " 

"Neither have I!" said Kit, with the candor 
of abject remorse. " But I don't know how I am 
to cure myself of it, unless I go and jump into the 
pond with a plowshare hitched to my neck. I did 
mean to do better ! " 

Seeing his tears begin to fall. Aunt Gray said, 
soothingly : 

" Your comin' out here for the whip shows you 
did mean to, though to patch a little hole you 
sp'ilt cloth that would have made a garment. 
You 're like the man that went to stop a little leak 
o' cider, and burst the hoops off his barrel. But 
there 's no use cryin' for spilt milk, nor scoldin' 
about it, neither. If the boss is stole, the next 
thing to be done is to try to find him. Here 's 
Abram ; mebbe he knows something that '11 clear 
up the mystery." 

Abram was the hired man, who lived in his 
own home a mile away, and used to come up to 
the farm every morning. He was as much sur- 
prised as anybody to learn that Dandy Jim was 
gone, with saddle and bridle; and he had to go 
and look the stalls and pens all over before he 
would be convinced. Then he suddenly ex- 
claimed : " Jingo ! " 

" What is it ?" Uncle Gray asked eagerly. 

" The boss-tracks I see comin' up from the vil- 
lage ! This accounts for 'em ! " 

"Did you see boss-tracks?" Aunt Gray in- 
quired ; while Uncle Gray said frowningly that 
" boss-tracks " were " plenty enough" ; the roads 
were " full of 'em." 

" But not such tracks as I saw this mornin'," 
replied Abram. "There was a light rain some 
time in the night, and these tracks were made 
afterward, as you could see plain enough. I 
come up the cow-lane, or 1 might, likely, have 
followed 'em to your front gate." 

" Here they are ! " cried Kit, who was already 
searching the drive- way which led from the barn, 
past the house, to the road. ' ■ Fresh tracks after 
the rain ! There they go ! there ! there ! " 

He was off like a hound on a scent, following 
the tracks to the road. Uncle Gray went more 
slowly, scrutinizing them with a sight not so keen, 
and muttering discouragingly : 

" I guess they 're Dandy's tracks, sure enough ; 
but what 's the use of any more evidence that I 've 
lost a boss ? I was sure on 't before." 

" We can track him !" cried Kit earnestly. 

" A sight of good that '11 do ! " said Uncle Gray. 
"You may track him a mile or so ; but what '11 
ye do, f'r instance, when ye find the roads full of 
all sorts of tracks, as they will be long 'fore you 
come in sight of the thief? " 

"Here are a man's tracks, too!" exclaimed 
Kit. "He led Dandy past the gate; and here 's 
where he mounted. I 'm going to see which way 
he has gone, before it 's too late. 1 wish the 
mare was fit to ride ! " 

" I would n't trust her with ye," was Uncle 
Gray's grim response ; " such a blunderhead as 
you be ! " 

" But I am going, anyway ! " Kit declared. 

"Nobody '11 hinder ye," growled Uncle Gray. 
" Go, if ye wan' to; and I guess, on the whole, ye 
better not come back 'ithout the boss." 

" Well ! I wont !" said Kit, desperately. 

"Don't say that, Christopher!" interposed 
Aunt Gray. " Don't talk that way, Pa! you don't 
mean it." 

" Yes, I do ! I 'm tired of the boy's blunderin', 
blunderin' ! I don't want to see him ag'in 'ithout 
he brings back Dandy, which, I guess, he '11 do 
about next day after never." 

" Christopher ! " Aunt Gray called again, rais- 
ing her voice to be heard in the distance : " wait 
for a mouthful of breakfast ! " 

" I don't want any breakfast.'" Kit answered, as 
he ran. 

"Come back for your hat!" screamed Aunt 




Kit did not hear ; nor had he the least idea 
that he had started ot^' on liis hopeless chase after 
a tolerably well-mounted rogue, without a hat to 
his uncombed head. 

He scanned the tracks carefully as he went, 
noting the difference between those of the hind 
feet, which were shod, and those of the fore feet 
which were not, in places where fore foot and 
hind foot had left separate prints. He also ob- 
served that Dandy had started off evidently on a 
walk, then struck into a trot, and finally been 
urged to a gallop, when he had gone well out of 
hearing from the house ; his strides growing 

longer, and his feet throwing up the dirt of the 
road-way more plentifully as his speed increased. 

The widow Downimede had barely risen that 
morning, and her door was still unfastened, when 
it was shaken and pounded violently, and she 
heard a voice calhng : "Hallo! Mother! Mother!" 

"It is Christopher!" she exclaimed in very 
great astonishment, which was not lessened, be 
sure, when she hastened to open the door and 
saw him standing there, hatless, with wild eyes 
and hair, flushed with running, and out of breath. 

"Why, my child!" she cried, "what is the 
matter ? " 

"Don't be frightened," he said. "Uncle's 
horse has been stolen. The thief has ridden him" 

— he gasped for breath — "right by the liouse 
here. I am on his track." 

" My dear boy ! " replied the widow, whose first 
concern was not for the loss of the horse, " \ ou 
will kill yourself with running! " 

"Never fear!" said Kit. "I am all right — 
only " — panting again — "I started off without my 
breakfast. Give me a doughnut or two to ]3ut in 
my pocket — to eat — when 1 have a chance." 

On his way to the village, he had had time to 
reflect that he very likely had an all-day's chase 
before him, and that his strength would not hold 
out without food. He had also discovered the 

.absence of his hat, before reminded nf it by his 

" Yes," he said, putting up his hand to his 
tossed hair, " that 's one thing I stopped for — my 
base-ball cap. Where is it?" For, of course, so 
heedless a lad as Kit was careless of any of his things 
at home, and had to ask his mother for them. 

"I '11 find it," she replied. "But \ou must 
eat something — a bowl ot bread and milk. Mr. 
Pierce has just left our pint. Take it all." 

The can was on the doorstep. Kit took it up 
and handed it to her, declaring" at the same time 
that he could not stop to eat, nor even wait for his 
cap unless she could put her hand on it at once. 

" For I must find that horse," he said, " if such 





a thing is possible. It was my fault that he was 
stolen, and I am not to go back to Uncle Gray's 
without him." 

"Why ! how did it happen ? " asked his mother. 

" I left the stable-door unlocked. Uncle Gray 
was mad as fury, and I don't blame him. I some- 
times think I 'm Haifa fool ! " And poor Kit burst 
into tears of self-hatred and grief. 

The widow tried to soothe him, as she urged him 
into the house and poured the milk into a bowl 
on the table before him ; yet she could not help 
speaking reproachfully of his fault. 

"I was afraid it would bring you into trouble; 
and I warned you, — don't you remember I warned 
you, Christopher? And now if your uncle has cast 
you off on account of it, I don't know what we are 
going to do. I 'm so sorry, so sorry ! for I don't 
see the least chance of your finding the horse, un- 
less you have a still faster one to ride." 

" Well, 1 have n't that, and I can't afford to 
hire one," said Kit, gulping down the milk, for he 
found that he was thirsty, if not hungry. "I'll 
take. my chances; and if 1 don't have a horse to 

ride, why, then I sha'n't be bothered with one. 
The thief is not many hours ahead of me, for he 
started after it stopped raining." 

" It rained till two o'clock, and after," said the 
widow, stuffing his pockets with doubled slices of 
buttered bread. " 1 was awake; and I remember 
now, I heard a horse clattering fast along the 
street about then. 1 thought of your father's sud- 
den illness, and wondered who was riding fast for 
the doctor. I think of your father so much, night 
and day, Christopher ! " 

Her mind was running off upon her great sor- 
row ; but Kit could not stop to hear. He seized 
the cap which, with a housekeeper's instinct, she 
had found and handed him ; clapped it on his 
frizzly pate, took another swallow of milk and a 
bite of bread, allowing her at the same time to 
drop some small change into his pocket, — all she 
had ; — then he rushed out of the house. 

The tracks were still traceable, and they led 
straight through the village; growing more and 
more indistinct beyond, however, as they mingled 
with other tracks made since the rain. 

( To be L'otitinued.j 







By Louisa M. Alcott. 

A YOUNG girl in a little cap and a big apron sat 
poring over a cook-book, with a face full of the 
deepest anxiety. She had the kitchen to herself, for 
Mamma was out for the day, and cook was off duty. 
So Edith could fuss to her heart's content. She 
belonged to a cooking class, the members of which 
were to have a luncheon at two o'clock with the 
girl ne.xt door ; and now the all-absorbing question 
was What shall 1 make? " Turning the pages 
of the well-used book, she talked to herself aa the 
various recipes met her eye. 

" Lobster-salad and chicken-croquettes I 've had, 
and neither were very good. Now, I want to dis- 
tinguish myself by something very nice. 1 'd try 
a meat-porcupine or a mutton-duck if there were 
time ; but they are fussy, and ought to be re- 
hearsed before they are given to the class. Bavarian 
cream needs berries and whipped cream, and I 
will not tire my arms beating eggs. 'Apricots 
a la Neige ' is an easy thing and wholesome, but 
the girls '11 not like it, I know, as well as some 
rich thing that will make them ill, as Carrie's 
plum-pudding did. A little meat-dish is best for 
lunch. I 'd try sweet-breads and bacon, if I did 
n't hate to burn my face and scent my clothes, 
frying. Birds are fine ; let me see if I can do 
larded grouse. No, 1 don't like to touch that 
cold, fat stuff. Potted pigeons — the very thing ! 
We had that in our last lesson, but the girls are 
all crazy about puff-paste, so they wont try 

pigeons. Why did n't 1 think of it at once? — 
for we have them in the house, and don't want 
them to-day, Mamma being called away. All 
ready, too ; so nice ! 1 do detest to pick and 
clean birds. 'Simmer from one to three hours.' 
Plenty of time. I '11 do it ! La, la, la ! " 

And away skipped Edith in high spirits, for she 
did not like to cook, yet wished to stand well with 
the class, some members of which were very 
ambitious, and now and then succeeded with an 
elaborate dish, more by good luck than skill. 

Six plump birds were laid out on a platter, with 
their legs folded in the most pathetic manner. 
These Edith bore away in triumph to the kitchen, 
and opening the book before her, she went to work 
energetically, resigning herself to frying the pork 
and cutting up the onion, which she had over- 
looked when hastily reading the recipe. In time 
they were stuffed, the legs tied down to the tails, 
the birds browned in the stew-pan, and put to 
simmer with a pinch of herbs. 

" Now I can clear up, and rest a bit. If 1 ever 
have to work for a living, I '11 not be a cook," said 
Edith, with a sigh of weariness, as she washed her 
dishes, wondering how there could be so many ; 
for no careless Irish girl would have made a greater 
clutter over this small job than this young lady 
who had not yet learned one of the most important 
things that a cook should know. 

The bell rang just as she finished and was 




planning to lie and rest on the dining-room sofa 
till it was time to take up her pigeons. 

" Please say that I 'm engaged," she whispered, 
as the maid passed on her way to the door. 

" It 's your cousin, Miss, from the country, and 
she has a trunk with her. Of course she 's to come 
in?" asked Maria, coming back in a moment. 

"Oh, dear me! I forgot all about Patty. 
Mamma said any day this week, and this is the 
■most inconvenient one of the seven. Of course 
she must come in. Go and tell her I '11 be there 
in a minute," answered Edith, too well bred not 
to give even an unwelcome guest a kindly greeting. 

Whisking off cap and apron, and taking a last 
look at the birds, just beginning to send forth a 
savory steam, she went to meet her cousin. 

Patty was a rosy country lass of sixteen, plainly 
dressed and rather shy, but a sweet, sensible little 
body, with a fresh, rustic air which marked her 
for a field-flower at once. 

" How do you do, dear.' 1 'm so sorry Mamma 
is away ; she was called to a sick friend in a 
hurry. But I 'm here, and glad to see you. I 've 
an engagement at tw o, and you shall go with me. 
It 's only a lunch close by, with a party of girls ; 
I '11 tell you about it upstairs." 

Chatting away. Edith led Patty up to the pretty 
room ready for her, and soon both were laughing 
over a lively account of the exploits of the cooking 
class. Suddenly, in the midst of the cream-pie 
which had been her great success, and almost the 
death of all who partook thereof, Edith paused, 
sniffed the air, and crying tragically, " They are 
burning ! They are burning ! " rushed down-stairs 
as if the house were on fire. 

Much alarmed, Patty hurried after her, guided 
to the kitchen by the sound of lamentation. There 
she found Edith hanging over a stew-pan, with 
anguish in her face and despair in her voice, as 
she breathlessly explained the cause of her flight. 

" My pigeons ! Are they burnt ? After all my 
trouble — 1 shall be heart-broken if they are spoilt." 

Reluctantly Patty owned that a slight flavor of 
scorch did pervade the air, but suggested that an ad- 
ditional mite of seasoning would conceal the sad fact. 

"I '11 try it. Do you love to cook? Don't you 
want to make something for the class? It would 
please the girls, and make up for my poor burnt 
pigeons," said Edith, as she skimmed the broth 
and added pepper and salt with a lavish hand. 

" I don't know anything about pigeons, except 
how to feed and pet them," answered Patty. " We 
don't eat ours. I can cook plain dishes and make 
all kinds of bread. W ould biscuit or tea-cake do ? " 

Patty looked so pleased at the idea of contribut- 
ing to the feast, that Edith could not bear to tell 
her that hot biscuits and tea-cake were not just 

"the thing" for a city lunch. She accepted the 
offer, and Patty fell to work so neatly and skillfully 
that, by the time the pigeons were done, two pan- 
fuls of delicious little biscuit were baked, and folded 
in a nice napkin ready to carry off in the porcelain 
plate with a wreath of roses painted on it. 

In spite of all her flavoring, the burnt odor and 
taste still seemed to linger about Edith's dish ; 
but fondly hoping that no one would perceive 
it, she dressed hastily, gave Patty a touch here 
and there, and set forth at the appointed time to 
Augusta's lunch. 

Six girls belonged to this class, and the rule was 
for each to bring her contribution and set it on the 
table prepared to receive them all ; then, when the 
number was complete, the covers were raised, the 
dishes examined, eaten (if possible), and pro- 
nounced upon, the prize being awarded to the 
best. The girl at whose house the lunch was 
given provided the prize, which was often both 
pretty and valuable. 

On this occasion a rich bouquet of Jacqueminot 
roses in a lovely vase ornamented the jniddle 
of the table, and the eyes of all rested admiringlv 
upon it, as the seven girls gathered around, after 
depositing their dishes. 

Patty had been kindly welcomed, and soon 
forgot her shyness, in wonder at the handsome 
dresses, graceful manners, and lively gossip of the 
girls. A pleasant, merry set, all wearing the uni- 
form of the class, — dainty white aprons, and co- 
quettish caps with many-colored ribbons, like the 
maid-servants on the stage. At the sound of a silver 
bell, each took her place before the covered dish 
which bore her name, and when Augusta said, 
" Ladies, we will begin," off went napkins, silver 
covers, white paper, or whatever hid the contribu- 
tions from longing eyes. A moment of deep silence, 
while quick glances took in the prospect, and then 
a unanimous explosion of laughter followed ; for 
six platters of potted pigeons stood upon the board, 
with nothing but the flowers to break the ludicrous 
monotony of the scene ! 

How they laughed ! For a time they could do 
nothing else; because if one tried to explain, she 
broke down and joined in the gale of merriment 
again quite helplessly. They made such a noise 
that Augusta's mamma peeped in to see what 
was the matter. Six agitated hands pointed to 
the comical sight on the table, which looked as 
if a flight of potted pigeons had alighted there, 
and six breathless voices cried in a chorus: " Is 
n't it funny ? Don't tell ! " 

Much amused, the good lady retired to enjoy 
the joke alone, while the exhausted girls wiped 
their eyes and began to talk, all at once. Such a 
clatter ! But out of it all, Patty evolved the fact 




that each had meant to surprise the rest, — and 
certainly had succeeded. 

"I tried puff-paste," said Augusta, fanning her 
hot face. 

" So did I ! " cried the others. 

" And it was a dead failure." 

' ' So was mine ! " echoed the voices. 

" Then I thought I 'd make the other dish we 
had that day " 

" Just what I did ! " 

" Feeling sure you all would try the pastry, and 
perhaps get on better than I." 

"Exactly like me!" and a fresh laugh ended 
this general confession. 

" Now we must cat our pigeons, as we have 
nothing else, and it is against the rule to add from 
outside stores. I propose that each girl passes her 
dish around ; then we all can criticise it, and so 
get some good out of this very funny lunch. 

Augusta's plan was carried out; and all being 
hungry after their unusual exertions, the girls fell 
upon the unfortunate birds like so many famished 
creatures. The first one went very well, but when 
the dishes were passed again, each taster looked 
at it anxiously ; for none were very good, there 
was nothing to fall back upon, and variety is the 
spice of life, as every one knows. 

" Oh, for a slice of bread ! " sighed one damsel. 

" Why did n't we think of it ? " asked another. 

" I did ; but we always have so much cake, I 
thought it was foolish to lay in rolls," exclaimed 
Augusta, rather mortified at the neglect. 

"I expected to have to taste six pies, and one 
does n't want bread with' pastry, you know." 

As Edith spoke, she suddenly remembered Pat- 
ty's biscuit, which had been left on the side-table 
by their modest maker, as there seemed to be no 
room for them. 

Rejoicing now over the rather despised dish, 
Edith ran to get it, saying, as she set it in the mid- 
dle, with a flourish : 

" My cousin's contribution. She came so late, 
she only had time for that. I 'm so glad I took 
the liberty of bringing her and them." 

A murmur of welcome greeted the much-desired 
addition to the feast, which would have been a 
decided failure without it, and the pretty plate 
went briskly round, till nothing was left but the 
painted roses in it. With this help, the best of the 
potted pigeons were eaten, while a lively discussion 
went on about what they would have next time. 

" Let us each tell our dish, and not change. Wc 
shall never learn if we don't keep to one thing till 
we do it well. I will choose mince-pie, and bring 
a good one, if it takes me all the week to do it," 
said Edith, heroically taking the hardest thing she 
could think of, to encourage the others. 

Fired by this noble example, each girl pledged 
herself to do or die, and a fine list of rich dishes 
was made out by these ambitious young cooks. 
Then a vote of thanks to Patty was passed, her 
biscuit unanimously pronounced the most success- 
ful contribution, and the vase presented to the 
delighted girl, whose blushes were nearly as deep 
as the color of the flowers behind which she tried 
to hide them. 

Soon after this ceremony the party broke up, 
and Edith went home to tell the merry story, 
proudly adding that the country cousin had won 
the prize. 

" You rash child, to undertake mince-pie ! It is 
one of the hardest things to make, and about the 
most unwholesome when eaten. Read the recipe 
and see what you have pledged yourself to do, my 
dear," said her mother, much amused at the haps 
and mishaps of the cooking class. 

Edith opened her book and started bravely off 
at " Puff-paste"; but by the time she had come 
to the end of the three pages devoted to directions 
for the making of that indigestible delicacy, her 
face was very sober, and when she read aloud the 
following recipe for the mince-meat, despair 
slowly settled upon her like a cloud. 

One cup chopped meat: 1I2 cups raisins; cups currants; 
1 1< cups brown sugar ; 1 1 3 cups molasses ; 3 cups chopped apples ; 
I cup meat liquor ; 2 tea-spoonfuls salt ; 2 tea-spoonfuls cinnamon ; 
1 2 tea-spoonful mace; ^ tea-spoonful powdered cloves : i lemon, 
grated: ^ piece citron, sliced ; ^2 cup brandy: ^{ cup wine; 3 
tea-spoonfuls rose-water. 

" Oh, my, what a job ! I shall have to work at 
it every day till next Saturday, for the paste alone 
will take all the wits I have. I luas rash, but I 
spoke without thinking, and wanted to do some- 
thing really fine. And now 1 must blunder along 
as well as I can," groaned Edith. 

" I can help about the measuring and weighing 
and chopping. I ahvays help mother at Thanks- 
giving time, and she makes delicious pies. We 
never have mince-pies at any other time, as she 
thinks it 's bad for us," said P:Uty, full of sym- 
pathy and good-will. 

" Patty, what are you to take to the lunch ? " 
asked Edith's mother, smiling at her daughter's 
mournful face, bent over the fatal book full of 
dainty messes that had tempted the unwary learner 
to her doom. 

"Only coflee," replied Patty, "I can't make 
fancy things, but my coffee is always good. They 
said they wanted it, so I offered.'' 

" 1 shall have my pills and powders ready, for if 
you all go on at this rate, you will need a dose of 
some sort after your lunch, (.".ive your orders, 
Edith, and devote your mind to the task. I wish 
you good luck and good digestion, my dears." 




With that the mamma left the girls to cheer 
each other, and to make plans for a daily lesson 
till the perfect pie was made. 

They certainly did their best, for they began 
on Monday, and each morning through the week 
went to the mighty task with daily increasing 
courage and skill. And they truly needed the 
former, for even good-natured Nancy became tired 
of having " the young ladies fussing round so 
much," and looked cross as the girls appeared in 
the kitchen. 

Edith's brothers laughed at the various failures 
which appeared at table, and dear Mamma grew 
weary of tasting pastry and mince-meat in all 
stages of progression. But the undaunted damsels 
kept on till Saturday came, and then a very supe- 
rior pie stood ready to be offered for the inspec- 
tion of the class. 

" I never want to see another," said Edith, as 
the girls dressed together, weary, but well satisfied 
with their labor ; for the pie had been praised by 
all beholders, and the fragrance of Patty's coffee 
filled the house, as it stood ready to be poured, 
hot and clear, into the best silver pot at the last 

" Well, I feel as if I 'd lived in a spice-mill this 
week, or a pastry-cook's kitchen ; and I 'm glad 
we are done. Your brothers wont get any pie for 
a long while, I guess, if it depends on you," 
laughed Patty, putting on the new ribbons her 
cousin had given her. 

" When Florence's brothers were here last 
night, 1 heard those rascals making all sorts of fun 
of us, and Alf said we ought to let them come to 
lunch. 1 scorned the idea, and made their mouths 
water, by telling about the good things we were 
going to have," said Edith, exulting over the 
severe remarks she had made to these gluttonous 
young men, who adored pie and yet jeered at un- 
fortunate cooks. 

Florence, the lunch-giver of the week, had made 
her table pretty with a posy at each place, put the 
necessary roll in each artistically folded napkin, 
and hung the prize from the gas burner, — a large 
blue satin bag full of the most delicious bonbons 
money could buy. There was some delay about 
beginning, as one distracted cook sent word that 
her potato-puffs would n't brown, and begged 
them to wait for her. So they adjourned to the 
parlor, and talked till the flushed but triumphant 
Ella arrived with the puffs in fine order. 

When all was ready and the covers were raised, 
another surprise awaited them ; not a merry one, 
like the last, but a very serious affair, which pro- 
duced domestic warfare in two houses at least. On 
each dish lay a card bearing a new name for its 
carefully prepared delicacies. The mince-pie was 

re-christened " Nightmare," veal cutlets " Dys- 
pepsia," escalloped lobster " Fits," lemon sherbet 
"Colic," coffee "Palpitation," and so on, even 
to the pretty sack of confectionery, which was 
labeled "Toothache." 

Great was the indignation of the insulted cooks, 
and a general cry of " Who did it? " arose. The 
poor maid who waited on them declared with tears 
that not a soul had been in, and she herself absent 
only five minutes in getting the ice-water. Flor- 
ence felt that her guests had been insulted, and 
promised to find out the wretch and punish him 
or her in the most terrible manner. So the irate 
young ladies ate their lunch before it cooled, but 
forgot to criticise the dishes, so full were they of 
wonder at this daring deed. They were just 
beginning to calm down, when a loud sneeze 
caused a general rush toward the sofa that stood in 
a recess of the dining-room. A small boy, nearly 
suffocated with suppressed laughter and dust, was 
dragged forth, and put on trial without a moment's 
delay. Florence was judge, the others jury, and 
the unhappy youth, being penned in a corner, was 
ordered to tell the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth, on penalty of a sound whip- 
ping with the big Japanese war-fan that hung on 
the wall over his head. 

Vainly trying to suppress his giggles, Phil faced 
the seven ladies like a man, and told as little as 
possible, delighting to torment them, like a true 

"Do you know who put those cards there?" 
asked Florence, who conducted the examination 
of the culprit. 

" Don't you wishyoit did ? " 

" Phil Gordon, answer at once." 

" Yes, I do." 

"Was it Alf? He 's at home Saturdays, and 
it 's just like a horrid Hari'ard soph to plague us 

" It was — not." 

" Did you see it done ! " 

" 1 did." 

" Man, or woman? Mary fibs, and may have 
been bribed." 

" Man," with a chuckle of great glee. 

" Do I know him ? " 

" Oh, don't you ! " 

" Edith's brother Rex?" 

" No, ma'am." 

" Do be a good boy, and tell us ! We wont 
scold, though it was a very, very rude thing to 

" What will you give me ?" 
" Do you need to be bribed to do your duty?" 
" Well, it 's no fun to hide in that stufty place, 
and sniff things good to eat, and see you make 




way with them, without offering a fellow a taste. 
Give me a good trial at the lunch, and 1 '11 see 
what I can do for you." 

" Boys are such gluttons ! Shall we, girls ? '' said 
Florence, turning to her guests. 

" Yes, we must know," came the unanimous 

" Then go and eat, you bad boy; but we shall 
stand guard over you till you tell us who wrote and 
put those insulting cards here." 

Florence let out the prisoner, and stood by him 
while he ate (in a surprisingly short time) the best 
of everything on the table, for he well knew that 
such a rare chance would not soon be his again. 

" Now, give me some of that candy, and I 'U 
tell," demanded the young Shylock, bound to 
make the best of his power while it lasted. 

"Did you ever see such a little torment? I 
can't give the nice bonbons, because they 're a 
prize, and we have n't decided who is to have them. " 

" Never mind. Pick out a few and get rid of 
him," cried the girls, hovering about their prisoner 
and longing to shake the truth out of him. 

A handful of caramels was reluctantly bestowed, 
and then all waited for the name of the evil-doer 
with breathless interest. 

"Well," began Phil, with exasperating slow- 
ness, "Alf wrote the cards, and gave me half a 
dollar to put 'em 'round. Made a nice thing of it, 
have n't I ? " And before any of the girls could 
catch him, he had bolted from the room, with one 
hand full of candy, the other of mince-pie, and 
his face shining with the triumphant glee of a 
small boy who has teased seven big girls and got 
the better of them. 

What went on just after that is not recorded, 
though Phil peeped in at the windows, hooted 
through the slide, and beat a tattoo on the various 
doors. The opportune arrival of his mother sent 
him whooping down the street, and the distressed 
damsels finished their lunch with what appetite 
they could muster. 

Edith won the prize, for her pie was pronounced 
a grand success, and partaken of so heartily that 
several young ladies had reason to think it well 
named "Nightmare" by the derisive Alfred. 
Emboldened by her success, Edith invited them 
all to her house on the next Saturday, and sug- 
gested that she and her cousin provide the lunch- 
eon, as they had some new dishes to offer, not 
down in the recipe-book they had been studying 
all winter. 

As the ardor of the young cooks was somewhat 
dampened by various failures, and the discovery 
that good cooking is an art not easily learned, any- 
thing in the way of novelty was welcome ; and the 
girls gladly accepted the invitation, feeling a sense 

of relief at the thought of not having any dish to 
worry about, though not one of them owned that 
she was tired of "mussing," as the disrespectful 
boys called it. 

It was unanimously decided to wither with silent 
scorn the audacious Alfred and his ally. Rex, while 
Phil was to be snubbed by his sister till he had 
begged pardon for his share of the evil deed. 
Then, having sweetened their tongues and tem- 
pers with the delicious bonbons, the girls departed, 
feeling that the next lunch would be an event of 
unusual interest. 

The idea of it originated in a dinner which Patty 
cooked one day when Nancy, who wanted a holi- 
day, was unexpectedly called away to the funeral of 
a cousin, — the fifth relative who had died in a year, 
such was the mortality in the jovial old creature's 
family. Edith's mother was very busy with a 
dressmaker, and gladly accepted the offer the girls 
made to get dinner by themselves. 

" No fancy dishes, if you please ; the boys come 
in as hungry as hunters, and want a good solid 
meal ; so have something wholesome and plain, and 
plenty of it," was the much-relieved lady's only 
suggestion, as she retired to the sewing-room and 
left the girls to keep house and prepare dinner in 
their own way. 

" Now, Edie, you be the mistress and give your 
orders, and I 'U be cook. Only have things that 
go well together, — not all baked or all boiled, be- 
cause there is n't room enough on the range, you 
know," said Patty, putting on a big apron with 
an air of great satisfaction ; for she was fond of 
cooking, and was tired of doing nothing. 

" I '11 watch all you do, and learn ; so that the 
next time Nancy goes off in a hurry, I can take 
her place, and not have to give the boys what they 
hate, — a ' picked-up dinner,'" answered Edith, 
pleased with her part, yet a little mortified to find 
how few plain dishes she could make well. 

" What do the boys like ? " asked Patty, longing 
to please them, for they all liked her and were 
very kind to her. 

"Roast beef and custard pudding, with two or 
three kinds of vegetables. Can we do all that? " 

"Yes, indeed. I '11 make the pudding right 
away, and have it baked before the meat goes in. 
I can cook as many vegetables as you please, and 
soup too." 

So the order was given and all went w-ell, if one 
might judge by the sounds of merriment in the 
kitchen. Patty made her best gingerbread, and 
cooked some apples with sugar and spice for tea, 
and at the stroke of two had a nice dinner smok- 
ing on the table, to the great contentment of the 
hungry boys, who did eat like hunters, and ad- 
vised mamma to send old Nancy away and keep 




Patty for cook ; which complimentary but rash 
proposal pleased their cousin very much. 

" Now, this is useful cookery, and well done, 
though it looks so simple," said Edith's mother. 
"Any girl can learn how, and so be independent 
of servants if need be. Drop your class, Edith, 
and take a few lessons of Patty. That would suit 
me better than French affairs that are neither 
economical nor wholesome." 

" I will, Mamma, for 1 'm tired of creaming but- 
ter, larding things, and beating eggs. These dishes 
are not so elegant, but we must have them ; so I 
may as well learn, if Patty will teach me." 

grew the lunch which Edith proposed, and to the 
preparation of which went much thought and care ; 
for the girls meant to have many samples of coun- 
try fare, so that various tastes might be pleased. 
The plan gradually grew as they worked, and a lit- 
tle surprise was added, which was a great success. 

When Saturday came, the younger boys were all 
packed off for a holiday in the country, that the 
coast might be clear. 

" No hiding under sofas in my house, no med- 
dling with my dinner, if you please, gentlemen," 
said Edith, as she saw the small brothers safely 
off, and fell to work with Patty and the maid to 


"With pleasure, all I know," replied her cousin. 
"Mother thinks it a very important part of a girl's 
education ; for if you can't keep servants, you can 
do your own work well, and even if you are rich 
you are not so dependent as is one who is ignorant 
of these things. All kinds of useful sewing and 
housework come first with us, and the accomplish- 
ments afterward, as time and money allow." 

" That sort of thing turns out the kind of girl 1 
like, and so thinks every sensible fellow," exclaimed 
Rex. "Good luck to you, Cousin, and my best 
thanks for a capital dinner and a wise little lecture 
for dessert." 

Rex made his best bow as he left the table, and 
Patty colored high with pleasure at the praise of 
the tall collegian. 

Out of this, and the talk thev had afterward, 

arrange the dining-room to suit the feast about to 
be spread there. 

As antique furniture is the fashion nowadays, 
it was easy to collect all the old tables, chairs, 
china, and ornaments in the house, and make a 
pleasant place of the sunny room, where a tall 
clock always stood, and damask hangings a cent- 
ury old added much to the effect. A massive 
mahogany table was set forth with ancient silver, 
glass, china, and all sorts of queer old salt-cellars, 
pepper-pots, pickle-dishes, knives, and spoons. 
High-backed chairs stood around it, and the guests 
were received by a very pretty old lady in plum- 
colored satin, with a muslin pelerine, and a large 
lace cap very becoming to the rosy face it sur- 
rounded. A fat watch ticked in the wide belt, 
mitts covered the plump hands, and a reticule 





hung at the side. Madam's daughter, in a very 
short-waisted pink silk gown, niusUn apron, and 
frill, was even prettier than her mother, for her 
dark, curly hair hung on her shoulders, and a little 
cap with long pink streamers was stuck on the 
top. Her mitts went to the elbow, and a pink sash 
was tied in a large bow behind. Black satin shoes 
covered her feet, and a necklace of gold beads was 
around her throat. 

Great was the pleasure this little surprise gave 
the girls, and gay was the chatter that went on as 
they were welcomed by their hostesses, who con- 
stantly forgot their parts. Madam frisked now and 
then, and " pretty Peggy " was so anxious about 
dinner that she was not as devoted to her company 
as a well-bred young lady should be. But no one 
minded, and when the bell rang, all gathered about 
the table, eager to see what the feast was to be. 

" Ladies, we have endeavored to give you a taste 
of some of the good old-style dishes rather out of 
fashion now," said Madam, standing at her place, 
with a napkin pinned over the purple dress, and a 
twinkle in the blue eyes under the wide cap-frills. 
" We thought it would be well to introduce some 
of them to the class and to our family cooks, who 
either scorn the plain dishes or don't know how to 
cook them n'ell. There is a variety, and we hope 
all will find something to enjoy. Peggy, uncover, 
and let us begin." 

At first the girls looked a little disappointed, for 
the dishes were not very new to them, but when 
they tasted a real " boiled dinner," and found how 
good it was ; also baked beans, neither hard, 
greasy, nor burnt ; beefsteak, tender, juicy, and 
well flavored ; potatoes, mealy in spite of the sea- 
son ; Indian pudding, made as few modern cooks 
know how to make it ; brown bread, with home- 
made butter ; and pumpkin-pie that cut like wedges 
of vegetable gold, — they changed their minds, and 
began to eat with appetites that would have de- 
stroyed their reputations as delicate young ladies, 
if they had been seen. Tea in egg-shell cups, 
election-cake and cream-cheese, with fruit, ended 
the dinner ; and as they sat admiring the tiny old 
spoons, the crisp cake, and the little cheeses like 
snow-balls, Edith said, in reply to various compli- 
ments paid her; "Let us give honor where 
honor is due. Patty suggested this, and did most 
of the cooking ; so thank her, and borrow her 
recipe-book. It 's very funny, ever so old, copied 
and tried by her grandmother, and full of direc- 
tions for making cjuantities of nice things, from 
pie like this to a safe, sure wash for the com- 
plexion. May-dew, rose-leaves, and lavender, — 
does n't that sound lovely ? " 

"Oh, let me copy it!" was the simultaneous 
recjuest of Ella and May, who were afflicted with 
freckles, and Laura, who was sallow from over- 
indulgence in coffee and confectionery. 

" Yes, indeed. But I was about to say, as we have 
no prize to-day, we have prepared a little souvenir 
of our old-fashioned dinner for each of you. 
Bring them. Daughter ; I hope the ladies will par- 
don the homeliness of the offering, and make use 
of the hint that accompanies each." 

As Edith spoke, with a comical mingling of the 
merry girl and the stately old lady she was trying 
to personate, Patty brought from the sideboard, 
where it had stood in hiding, a silver salver, on 
which lay five dainty little loaves of bread. On the 
top of each loaf appeared a recipe for making it, 
nicely written on a colored card and held in place 
by a silver scarf-pin. 

" How cunning ! " " What lovely pins ! " " 1 '11 
take the hint and learn to make good bread at 
once." "It smells as sweet as a nut, and is n't 
hard or heavy anywhere ! " " Such a pretty idea, 
and so clever of you to carry it out so well ! " 

These remarks went on as the little loaves went 
around, each girl finding her pin well suited to her 
pet fancy or foible ; for all were different, and all 
very pretty, whether the design was a palette, a 
pen, a racquet, a fan, or a bar of music. 

Seeing that her dinner was a success in spite of 
its homeliness, Edith added the last surprise, which 
had also been one to Patty and herself when it 
arrived, just in time to be carried out. She forgot 
to be Madam now, and said with a face full of 
mingled merriment and satisfaction, as she pushed 
her cap askew and pulled off her mitts : 

" Girls, the best joke of all is that Rex and Alf 
sent the pins, and made Phil bring them, with a 
most humble apology for their impertinence last 
week. A meeker boy I never saw, and for that 
we may thank Floy ; but I think the dinner Pat 
and I cooked the other day won Rex's heart, so that 
he made Alf eat humble pie in this agreeable 
manner. We '11 not say anything about it, but will 
all wear our pins, and show the boys that we can 
forgive and forget as ' sweet girls ' should, though 
we do cook and have ideas of our own beyond 
looking pretty and minding our older brothers." 

"We will!" cried the chorus with one voice, 
and Florence added: " 1 also propose that when 
we have learned to make something besides ' kick- 
shaws,' as the boys call our fancy dishes, we have 
a dinner like this, and invite those rascals to it ; 
which will be heaping coals of fire on their heads, 
and will put a stop for evermore to their making 
jokes about our cooking class." 

Vol. XII. — 2. 




By Emma C. Dowd. 

LORR.'MNE has wonderful, lustrous eyes, 
Clear as the depths of a mountain lake, 

Blue as the blue of morning skies 

That frost and sunshine together make. 

" Give me those beautiful eyes," I said, 

" Those merry blue eyes of yours, Lorraine!" 

The sunbeams danced on the golden head, 
While into the eyes crept a look of pain. 

" 1 tan't ! " the little maid said, at last. 

Her mind all free from the sudden doubt. 
As over the lids her fingers passed. 
" Dod put 'em in tight, and I tan't det 'em out ! " 

Bv Frank R. Stockton. 



It is quite a common thing for persons traveling 
in Europe who are unacquainted with the coun- 
tries they intend to visit, to form themselves into 
companies under the charge of a man who makes 
it his business to go with such parties and person- 
ally conduct them during the tours and journeys 
that may be agreed upon. Besides relieving trav- 
elers from the troubles and perplexities which 
often befall them in countries with the language 
and customs of which they are not well acquainted, 
the personal conductor is familiar with all the ob- 
jects of interest in the various places visited, and 
is able to explain to those under his charge every- 
thing that they see. 

It is my purpose to offer ipy services to you, 
boys and girls of St. NICHOLAS, to personally 
conduct you, in the pages of your magazine, to 
various interesting places in Europe. I do not 
propose to take you over all Europe, nor to stop 
at every well-known place upon our route, for to 
do this would require a long time. Of course, 
there are few places in the world which the St. 
Nicholas young people have not read about ; but 
every traveler sees something new, or sees old 
things in a new light, and when we visit great 
cities or noted localities, we shall not only try to 
enjoy what we have read of before, but to find out 
as much as possible for ourselves. I shall conduct 
you only over such ground as 1 myself have pre- 
viously visited. And now, as we know what is to 
be done, we will set out. 

If we cross the Atlantic by one of the fast steam- 
ships, we shall make the voyage in about a week. 
But if we are going to Liverpool, to which port 
most of the steamers sail, we must not think that 
our journey is over at the end of the seventh day. 
At that time we have only reached Oueenstown, 
Ireland. The time of steamers crossing the Atlan- 
tic is estimated by the number of days and hours 
occupied in going from Sandy Hook to Oueens- 
town, or from Oueenstown to Sandy Hook. It is 
true that, on arriving at Oueenstown we have 
reached Europe, but we must go on for about a 
day more before we get to Liverpool, the end of 
our voyage ; unless, indeed, we choose to stop for 
a time in Ireland, which many people do. We 
are landed at Liverpool by a little side-wheel 
steam-boat, which conveys us from the ocean 
steamer, anchored in mid-stream, to the "land- 
ing-stage " or floating dock. 

And here I may as well state at once that we 
are on our way to the south of France and Italy, 
and that, therefore, we shall make short stops, at 
present, at intervening places, no matter how in- 
teresting they may be. For this reason we shall 
soon leave behind us Liverpool, with its mag- 
nificent stone docks, its seven miles of quays, and 
its enormous draught-horses, which bear the same 
relation to common horses that Jumbo bears to 
common elephants. Nor shall we stop very long 
at the queer old town of Chester, full of quaint 
and curious houses of the olden time, some with 
Scriptural texts upon their fronts, and which has 
a wall entirely around it, built by the Romans 
when these might)- people were masters of Eng- 
land. If there is in our company any boy or girl 

■ 884.) 


who has studied ancient history so much that he 
or she is tired of hearing about the Romans, that 
member of our party must either turn back and 
go home, or else be prepared to exercise a great 
deal of resignation during the rest of our journeys. 
For, in traveling over civilized Europe, we might 
as well try to avoid English or American travelers 
(who are to be found everywhere) as to avoid the 
architectural remains of the Romans, who were 
as great in colonizing as they were in conquering, 
and who left marks of their enterprise from Africa 
to Scotland. If this energetic nation had known 
of the existence of a continent on the other side of 
the Atlantic, it is \ er)- likel)' that there would now 
be the remains of a Roman amphitheater on 
Coney Island, and a Roman wall around Bur- 
lington, New Jersey. Even London, the greatest 
city in the civilized world, where we shall not stop 

but it is not our intention to stop here now, and 
so w e keep on toward the south of France. 

Our first actual visit will be made to the small 
but very old city of Avignon f on the River Rhone. 
This is a good place at which to begin our foreign 
life, for there are few towns in Europe which to an 
.American boy or girl would seem more thoroughlj' 
foreign than .'Avignon. The town is surrounded 
by a high wall, with the battlements and towers 
almost as perfect as when they were built in 
tlie fourteenth century. Nearly all the streets 
arc either narrow or crooked, and many are 
both, as streets used to be in the Middle Ages, 
and some of them are cut through solid rock, 
with queer old houses perched high overhead. 
But there are broad open spaces, and one straight 
wide street, which, with the handsome gate at the 
end of it, was formerly called the street and gate 

now, although we shall visit it at a fu- - 
ture time, received its original name, 
Londinium, from the Romans, who . ; A 

made it from two Saxon words. 

England is a lieautiful country, and 
tempts us greatly to linger, but we 
must keep on and cross over, as soon — - " 

as possible, to the Continent ; and as 
some of us are probabh' subject to 
sea-sickness, wc will choose the short- 
est sea route — that between Dover 
and Calais.* The English Channel is one of the 
worst places in the world for causing sea-sickness, 
and we shall take passage upon a very curious vessel, 
built for the purpose of preventing, so far as possi- 
ble, the rolling, pitching, and tossing which cause 
many travelers to suffer more in a few hours' trip 
between England and France than they had suf- 
fered in their whole voyage across the wide Atlantic, 
This vessel is, m reality, two boats, placed side by 
side, and covered with one deck like the catama- 
rans in use in the United States. It has a com- 
paratively easy and steady motion, and it is quite 
a novel experience to go out to the forward rail, 
and see the bows of the two vessels in front of us 
plowing through the water, side by side, as if they 
were a pair of steam-boats running a very even 
race. From Calais we go by rail to Paris, the 
most beautiful of all the great cities of the world ; 

' Proncmnced : in English. A'tiT-is, — in French, /Ca/iT 


of Petrarch, after the famous poet who lived near 
Avignon. Lately, however, the French people 
have changed its name, and now it is called the 
street of the Republic. But with this exception 
there is nothing about Avignon that would remind 
us of any modern tow n. Everything we see — the 
houses, the streets, the churches — looks as if it 
had been in use for centuries. 

In the year 1309 .Avignon became a very im- 
portant place in the eyes of Europe ; for in that 
\'ear the Pope of Rome came to live here, and 
made this little city the central seat of government 
of the Christian church. Civil wars in Italy made 
Rome a very unpleasant place for the popes to live 
in, and through the influence of the King of 
France, Pope Clement V. established himself at 
.\vignon, and other popes succeeded him ; and the 
fact that for nearly a hundred years the popes 

t Pronounced A-vcctiyon^. 




lived at Avignon has given this little city an im- 
portant place in history. 

The massive palace in which the popes used to 
live still stands upon a hill called the Rocher des 
Doms, overlooking the town. This building, lofty 
in height and immense in extent, is now occupied 
as a military barracks, but visitors can walk through 
it and see many remains of its former grandeur. 
But in its lofty halls — (the walls of which were 
covered with fresco paintings by Italian masters) 
— rude soldiers now eat, drink, and sleep, where 
popes and cardinals once moved about in state. 

After a visit to the old cathedral near by, we go 
out upon the upper part of the hill, which is laid 
out as a pleasure-ground, with handsome walks 
and shrubbery. From a high point here we have 
one of the finest views in France. Far off to the 
eastward, with its white head against the deep 
blue sky, is a mountain, its top covered with 
perpetual snow. It is Mont Ventoux,* one of the 
Maritime' Alps ; and although we shall see much 
grander mountains, we shall not be likely to forget 
this one, on top of which is lying, perhaps, the first 
perpetual snow that some of us have ever seen. Far 
away on every side, we have beautiful views of the 
Rhone valley and the surrounding country with 
its dark masses of forest, its vast stretches of fields 
and groves of olive-trees, and its little white stone 
villages scattered about, here and there, upon the 
landscape. The river Rhone runs close to the 
foot of the Rocher des Doms ; and looking across 
its two branches, which are here separated by a 

New City ; and the place with the walls around it 
is the ruins of the fortified .A-bbey of St. Andrew, 
which used to be a very important establishment 
in the time of the popes. Just beneath us there 
is a part of an ancient bridge which once stretched 
across the two branches of the river, and over 
the island, to the other side. The swift-flowing 
Rhone, however, has long since carried away 
nearly all of it, and there is nothing left but a 
small portion, with a little chapel standing on the 
outermost and broken end. 

There is now a modern bridge over the river, 
and as I know we will all wish to examine the ruins 
of the abbey on the other side, we will cross over 
this ; and we soon enter the town of Villeneuve, 
which I am sure is the saddest and most deserted- 
looking place that any of you ever saw in your 

There are few persons to be seen anywhere. 
We go up a long street with dead-looking houses 
on each side, and occasionally we see a magnifi- 
cent stone portal with pillars and carved ornaments, 
which would seem to lead to some grand palace ; 
but on looking through the gate-way we see nothing 
behind but a miserable little stone shanty, the 
palace having long ago gone to ruin. An impos- 
ing entrance of this kind, which leads to nothing 
of any consequence, reminds me of some people I 
have met. 

I must say here, while speaking of the aspect 
of Villeneuve, that we must not allow ourselves to 
be depressed by the melancholy little villages we 


large island, we see something that seems like a 
fortress. The four walls, inclosing a large square 
space, have battlements and towers, most of which 
are now broken down ; but two fine old towers, 
with a gate-way between them, still stand up bold 
and high. Near these ruins is a long, straggling 
town, which is the very old town of Villeneuve,! or 

shall meet with in our travels in the southern part 
of Europe. We must not expect pretty houses, 
surrounded by shade-trees, fresh grass, and flower- 
beds, such as we see in country places at home. 
In England, and some parts of the Continent, 
many of the small country houses and villages are 
extremely picturesque and attractive, but in the 

* Pronounced MonS vonS-too . 

t Pronounced I 't'el-mcv . 



southern part of Europe, where the summers arc 
long and hot, the houses in the villages are built 
of gray or whitish stone, with as few windows as 
possible, and are crowded close together. The 
narrow streets are hard and white, and look as if 
they were made of the same stone as the houses. 
The heat can not penetrate into these tomb-like 

rooms of the tu o towers, which are connected, and 
which for centuries were used for prisons. In a small 
dark, stone cell there is an inscription stating that 
Gaston, brother of Louis XIV., was here confined. 
This was the " Man with the Iron Mask," who was, 
from time to time, shut up in various prisons of 
France. One of the large rooms has its stone 

buildings, and they may bo very cool and satisfac- 
tory to the people who live in them, but they have 
not a cheerful air. But we shall get used to this 
and many other things which are either better or 
worse than what we have left behind us at home ; 
and the sooner we make up our minds to enjoy, so 
far as we can, whatever sights we see, without con- 
tinually comparing them with things at home, the 
greater pleasure shall we take in our travels, and 
the greater advantage will they be to us. 

When we have passed through the town and 
have reached the old abbey, we find a little man 
with a bunch of keys ; he is called the gardien, 
and has the privilege of showing the place. 
Did any of you ever read " The Mysteries of 
Udolpho," by Mrs. Radclifl'e ? If you have, you 
will remember that the story is full of secret pas- 
sages, concealed door-ways, trap-doors, and dun- 
geons. The two great round towers which stand 
on each side of the main entrance to this abbey 
are very much liku my idea of the Castle of Udol- 
pho. We enter one of the towers by a little door 
on the ground, and find ourselves in a dark apart- 
ment ; then we go up narrow, winding stone stairs, 
with a rope on one side to take hold of ; and so 
visit, one after another, the various dungeons and 

floor literally co\ered with inscriptions scratched 
or carved there by prisoners. Some of these were 
made as late as the great French Revolution, 
while others date back to the tenth century; some 
are very elaborate, and it must have taken the 
prisoners a long time to cut them out, but that 
was probably the only way they had of passing 
the time. In the upper part of one of the towers 
is the bakery, with immense ovens, still apparently 
in good order. Near by is the little cell where the 
baker, who was always a prisoner, was e\'ery night 
locked up. The gardien will point out to us trap- 
doors, on which we feel somewhat fearful to tread, 
and doors and dark passages uhich we should 
never be likely to find by ourselves. And, at last, 
we make our w-ay down the stone stairs, which are 
worn by the steps of many generations of prison- 
ers, guards, and jailors, and out into the great 
inclosed space surrounded by the abbey walls. 
There are other towers at the corners of these 
walls, but they are in a ruined condition. Almost 
in the center of the inclosure is a comparatively 
modern convent, with a wall around it. This is 
the only place within the bounds of the ancient 
abbey that is inhabited. 

Ruins of this kind possess a historical interest. 




and those who wish to understand the manners 
and customs of people of the Middle Ages should 
not fail to visit them, if it is in their power ; but, 
after all, I think we shall feel relieved when we go 
away from this gloomy fortress and these melan- 
choly dungeons, and prepare to visit something 
which is a relic of the past, — I may say of the very 
long, long past, — but which has no saddening 
traditions connected with it. 

What we are now going to see is not at Avig- 
non, but is distant about an hour's ride by rail. 
It is the Pontdu Gard*(or " Bridge of the Gard"), 
a great bridge, or aqueduct, built here by the 
Romans at a time when this part of France was 
occupied by the soldiers and colonies of that peo- 
ple ; and, next to the Colosseum at Rome, it is 
considered the grandest and most perfect piece of 
Roman architecture now standing in the world. 

In order to properly see this great ruin, we shall 
give a day to the visit ; and we shall take a morning 
train at the station at the end of the bridge oppo- 
site Avignon, and go to Remoulin,t a small village 
about two miles from the Pont du Gard. Then 
as many of us as can be accommodated will get 
into little carriages, each drawn by one horse 
with a high horn to his collar, on which hang 
bells, and driven by a man in a blue blouse, 
with a whip that cracks as merrily as the bells 
jingle ; and the rest of us, 1 suppose, will have to 
walk. The most of our road is by the little river 
Gardon. usually called the Gard; and as we go 
along, we see French rural life much better than 
we can from the windoHS of a railway train. The 
road is smooth and hard, like those of our cit\- 
parks. Of this kind, indeed, are nearly all the 
roads in France. When we have gone about two 
miles, we reach a \ alley formed by two rows of 
high hills, which rise on each side of the river : 
and at a turn in the road we suddenly see before 
us the great Pont du Gard. It is an immense 
stone bridge, rising high into the air and stretching 
across the whole valley. It consists of three rows 
of arches, one above the other. In the lower row- 
there are six very large arches ; above this is a 
longer row of eleven smaller arches ; and over this, 
thirty-five arches still smaller. On the top of the 
upper row, and forming the summit of the bridge, 
is a covered aqueduct, or water-way. At a little 
distance this vast bridge seems almost as entire 
and perfect as when first built, and we can hardly 
realize the fact that it has stood there for nineteen 
centuries. The valley here is wild and almost 
desolate. There is a mill on one side of the river 
and a small house, nearly concealed by trees, on 
the other, and an occasional wagon may be seen 
moving slowly along the road, or crossing the 
river on a bridge, which was built in 1743 for 

military purposes, close to the lower arches of 
the ancient structure and partly resting on them. 
Otherwise the place is quiet and deserted, as it 
probably always has been ; and it seems strange that 
the Romans should have built such a stupendous 
and costly bridge in a spot like this. But it was 
not put here that people might cross the little 
river Gardon, which is spanned by a single one of 
the lower row of arches. There is a broad pave- 
ment of great slabs of stone on the top of this first 
row of arches, and on this persons could walk if 
there happened to be anybody who wanted to 
cross the river at this point, but vehicles could 
never go over the Font du Gard. It was erected 
solely for the purpose of carrying water across the 
valley, and was part of an aqueduct, twenty-five 
miles long, constructed by the Romans to conduct 
the water of the springs of Airan to their town of 
Nemausus, now the French town of Nimes. J 
Remains of this aqueduct may still be seen in 
various parts of the country between the springs 
and Nimes. 

We all stop for a few moments to gaze at this 
massive structure, — even now one of the greatest 
bridges in the world, — and then we hurry forward 
to take possession of it. This we may truly do for 
as long a time as we please, for there is no gar- 
dien here in charge of the bridge ; there are no 
guides to take us about and explain everything, 
as if they were "saying a lesson" which they 
had learned years ago, and had repeated every 
day since ; and it is very likely there are no 
tourists wandering up and down with red guide- 
books in their hands, for it is an out-of-the-way 
place. So we have the great bridge to ourselves, 
and can wander and climb about it as much as 
we like. We send the little carriages back to 
Remoulin, with orders to return for us in the 
afternoon, and give ourselves up to the pleasant 
occupation of finding out exactly what sort of a 
bridge the Romans constructed when they made 
up their minds to build a really good one. The 
first thing we do is to pass under some of the 
lower arches to the farther side ; and this we 
can easily do, for, as I said before, the little 
river runs under but one of these arches, the 
others stretching over the rocks, the grass, and 
the road in the bottom of the valley. From 
the other side we get a view of the ancient 
bridge unobstructed by the modern one, which 
was built by a warrior duke for the purpose of 
getting his cannon and military wagons across the 
stream, and which is now a very good bridge for 
vehicles of the present day. As we gaze up at the 
old bridge, we see great stones projecting at 
regular intervals from its sides, from the bottom 
up to the top of the second row of arches. These 

■' Pronounced Pou'^ liu Cnr 

t Pronounced Ri-h-itwo latt'S 

* Pronounced A'ccitt- 



served as supports to the derricks and other 
machines by which the massive stones were raised 
as the building progressed; and when Agrippa 
(the son-in-law of Csesar Augustus), who is believed 
to have built this bridge, had finished his great 
work, he did not think it necessary to make his 
workmen cut off these projecting stones, and thus 
we have an idea of one of the methods by which 
the Roman stone-masons worked. When we go 
up to the road which is on a level with the top of 

we can look through the long covered water-way 
from one end to the other. But more than this, 
we can walk through it if we choose, and this we 
immediately prepare to do. This long passage, 
through which the water used to run, is several 
feet wide, and higher than a tall man, and in some 
places the broad slabs of stone which formed its 
roof are missing, so that it is now quite well lighted. 
There is no danger in walking through it, for there 
are no holes in the floor through which one might 


the first row of arches, we all cross the bridge on 
the broad pavement, which seems as smooth and 
solid as when it was laid down, before the begin- 
ning of the Christian era. The second row of 
arches rests upon this pavement, but there is plenty 
of room on the outside of them for us to walk, and if 
we keep on the side next to the modern bridge, 
there is no danger of falling off. When we step 
under the arches of this second row and look up, we 
see the square indentations in the stone-work which 
were made there to support the scaffolding of the 
Roman masons. The world has changed so much 
since those holes were made that it is almost 
like a new world ; and if Agrippa. the famous 
aqueduct-builder, could come back to life, he 
would find a wonderfully different Rome and a 
wonderfully different Europe from those he used 
to know, but he would see the square holes in his 
arches exactly as he left them. 

When we have examined the bridge as much as 
we wish to from this broad lower pavement, we 
make up our minds to go to the very top of it, and 
see what is to be seen there. The aqueduct, h hich 
rests on the upper row of arches, extends from the 
upper part of the hills on one side of the valley to 
the hills on the other, and we can reach it by 
climbing a steep path. When we get to the end 
of the path, — and those of you who are inclined to 
be fat, and also inclined to be in a hurry, must 
expect to puff a little at this point, — we find that 

fall, and the w;ills of the aqueduct are still per- 
fect. The bridge is very old, but it is solid enough 
to support all the people who may choose to walk 
through its water-way, and hundreds of years from 
now it will probably be as strong as it is to-day. 
There have been young men who have partly 
crossed this bridge by climbing on the roof of the 
water-way and walking on the top of the stone 
slabs. There is no railing there for any of them 
to catch hold of should they make a misstep, and, 
although it is quite wide enough to walk on, it is 
too high in the air to make it safe for a prome- 
nade. So the St. Nicholas boys will keep off 
this roof, if they please, and walk in the narrow- 
passage through which the water used to flow to 
the old Roman town. 

When this water-way was built, it was lined with 
the famous Roman cement, through which water 
could not penetrate. The bottom, or floor, of 
the passage is now a good deal broken, and there 
are loose pieces of this plaster, about half an inch 
thick, lying here and there. I dare say many 
of the young people will pick up some of these, 
and carr\- them away as mementoes of mason- 
work which was comparatively new and fresh at 
the time when Mary and Joseph, with their little 
Child, took their flight into Egypt. It is not right 
to injure monuments or buildings, either ancient or 
modern, by carrying away pieces of them as relics, 
but there is no harm in taking a piece of plaster 




which may be crushed by the first heavy heel that 
treads upon it. It is a queer sensation, walking 
through this long rectangular pipe, for it is nothing 
else, which is raised to such a great height in the 
air. When we arrive at about the middle, those 
of us who happen to think of the three rows of 
arches beneath us, and of the good old age to 
which they have arrived, may perhaps begin to 
feel a little nervous, but there is really no danger, 
and if you think you feel the bridge swerving from 
side to side, it is all imagination. It is certainly a 
very narrow bridge, considering its great height and 
length, but the storms of nineteen centuries have 
not moved it. 

When we come to the other end of the bridge, we 
find that it is somewhat broken and does not 
reach the hill-top in front of it, but there arc 
stones, like steps, by which we can make our « a'y 
to a path which will take us down the hill to the 
valley. This valley is a delightful place for a pic- 
nic, and here we shall sit down and eat the lunch- 
eons we have brought with us. In some places 
the ground is covered with beautiful green grass, 
shaded by trees ; and near the bridge are many 
rocks which are pleasant to sit upon. Not far 
away is an olive orchard, and when I first visited 
this place many of the olives were ripe. I had 
never before seen ripe olives, \\'hich are of a dark 
purple, almost black, and look like little plums. 
I naturally wished to know how they tasted, and 
so I picked one and tried it. I do not believe 
the owner of the grove would object to the boys 
and girls picking as many ripe olives as they 
chose, provided the)- would give him a cent apiece 
for all they did not eat after tasting them. The 
foliage of olive-trees is of a dull grayish green, 
and although picturesque when seen in masses, 
and at a little distance with the sunlight upon 
it, is not of a cheerful hue. But an olive grove 
will always appear more cheerful to those who 
have not tasted the ripe fruit than to those who 
have. The olives which we use on our tables are 
picked green and pickled; those which ripen are 
used for oil. 

We wander by the side of the little river, which 
sometimes spreads out to quite a width, overhung 
by trees, and then hurries between rocks toward 
the mill, where it spreads itself out again and falls 
gayly over a dam. Then we sit upon the rocks 
and the grass, and look through the great lower 
arches of the old bridge, and we see through each 
one a different picture ; sometimes a bit of the 
river, the mill, and distant hills spotted with vil- 

lages and steeples ; sometimes the river, a grove, 
the bright green grass, and the deep blue sky ; and 
then again a white road, with a queer old-fashioned 
wagon making its way slowly along ; or high, 
rocky hills, and a mass of deep green foliage, with 
a bit of sky just visible at the top. 

And, when we gaze upward, there is the bridge, 
wonderful in its size, its beauty, and enduring 
strength, and still more wonderful in the story it 
tells of that great nation which once spread itself 
over the known world, leaving everywhere monu- 
ments of its power and \\'ealth. But, with one ex- 
ception, none of its monuments which survive 
to-day are so vast and imposing as this immense 
l^ridge, built simply for the piu'pose of giving good 
pure water to the inhabitants of a little town. 
Nearly every one w-ho sees the Pont du Gard 
makes the remark that it seems strange that such 
an enormous and expensive bridge should have 
been built just to carry water across that valley. 
Truly, the Romans were an energetic people. 

The reason why the Pont du Gard is now so 
much more a perfect structure than that other 
great remaining work of the Roman architects, 
the Colosseum, is that it has always stood at a 
distance from towns and cities whose inhabitants 
might want its stones to build their palaces and 
their huts. It is not the hand of time that has, in 
most cases, destroyed the temples and other archi- 
tectural works of the ancients, but the hand of 
man. They were built strongly and massively ; 
but, although they could resist the storms of cent- 
uries, they could not resist the crow-bars of men 
who found it much easier to take away their stones, 
already cut and shaped, than to quarry building- 
material from the rocks. The world has now 
more respect for ancient remains than it used to 
have ; and I feel sure that if ever a town arises near 
the Pont du Gard, the stones of the old bridge will 
not be taken to build its houses. 

But now we hear jingling bells, and the crack- 
ing of whips, and here come the little carriages to 
take us back to Remoulin. 

At Nimes, and at some other places in the south 
of France, there are ruins of amphitheaters and 
other Roman buildings ; but we shall not visit 
these now. After a while we wish to go to Rome, 
and if we see too many Roman ruins before we get 
there, it may take off a little of the edge of the 
keen pleasure we expect in the Eternal City. 

But the Pont du Gard is something that is dif- 
ferent from anything else in the world; it would 
not do to miss that. 

[An illustration, showing the Pont du Gard, arrives too late for the present issue of St. Nicholas. 
appear in the December number. — Ed. ] 


W I L L O \V - \V A R K 

'n Oira-tt^mtvinuvi^f table ^*.'atlu>g fov mo ^ 

u'ou^o^.•flL'^ m<xv l)o 

VV'l)i?ri^ Aiv '.^'l)itc ati^ ll)? cavil) Vluc, 

Tl)at on iw ^liV^c I 

T[?U luc l))e ^tor^ ci"bout it a-H . 
]<iiou^ l)o<</ to ^mcf "i 

fa-irv talc 

ow hoc» t>oal w ".i/ilhout 

ieU ^u'^ t1;(i .^toc^,- 




Of t];e manbarin^ric); in, k-nl^ anJs ^ol^; 

6 ^' 

T^ougf) cruel f«itl)er" 

|s=-C l;a.iig-e^ve^cl> luto a beautiful birii 

^^xb ^))OLus me oil l))e l^laJte- — 

ere tlie oraiig-f^-tref' a;);ere ll;ev talked 
^x\b ouer all at top ^ou liee „ 


W I I. L O W - W A R E . 


tells rne.mucl) to<) ^oon, , 
^j*][t.S time to^o to te^ . 

J St'c tin' louet-i taUc tl;v'ir fl^ht . 

nc of lofcr l)ir^>^ ^lu'j> bclon.' — 
TFVom tbe liUU bou^e ivitj) ll}c ^^r■nc^-up eh^n'^^s 

,^nb tlie W^-poat turn» to a. u-ullocu-tvce 

^11^ f myself ^ft!m.a.t la^t to lic / 
^j^^t; azure Is^a^i'e tv.^u^^'^u^l^ tl)i.-iu^(jl) 


M T K K E L . 





By Hjalmar H. Boyesen. 



You may find it hard to believe what I am 
going to tell you, but it is, nevertheless, strictly 
true. I knew the boy who is the hero of this 
story. His name was Thor Larsson, and a very 
clever boy he was. Still I don't think he would 
have amounted to much in the world, if it had not 
been for his friend Michael, or, as they write it 
in Norwegian, Mikkel. Mikkel, strange to say, 
was not a boy, but a fox. Thor caught him, when 

he was a very small lad, in a den under the roots 
of a huge tree. It happened in this way. Thor 
and his elder brother, Lars, and still another boy, 
named Ole Thomlemo, were up in the woods 
gathering faggots, which they tied together in 
large bundles to carry home on their backs ; for their 
parents were poor people, and had no money to 
buy wood with. The boys rather liked to be sent 
on errands of this kind, because delicious rasp- 
berries and blue-berries grew in great abundance 
in the woods, and gathering faggots was, after 
all, a much manlier occupation than staying at 
home minding the baby. 


M I K K E L . 


Thor's brother Lars and Ole Thomlemo were 
great friends, and they had a disagreeable way of 
always plotting and having secrets together and 
leaving Thor out of their councils. One of their 
favorite tricks, when they wished to get rid of 
him, was to pretend to play hidc-and-seek ; 
and when he had hidden himself, they would 
run away from him and make no effort to find 
him. It was this trick of theirs which led to 
the capture of Mikkel, and to many things be- 

It was on a glorious day in the early autumn that 
the three boys started out together, as frisky and 
gay as a company of squirrels. They had no lunch- 
eon baskets with them, although they expected to 
be gone for the whole day ; but they had hooks and 
lines in their pockets, and meant to have a famous 
dinner of brook-trout up in some mountain glen, 
where they could sit like pirates around a fire, 
conversing in mysterious language, while the fish 
was being fried upon a flat stone. Their tolh 
knives* were hanging, sheathed, from their girdles, 
and the two older ones carried, besides, little 
hatchets wherewith to cut off the dry twigs and 
branches. Lars and Ole Thomlemo, as usual, 
kept ahead and left Thor to pick his way over the 
steep and stony road as best he might; and when 
he caught up with them, they started to run, while 
he sat down panting on a stone. Thus several 
hours passed, until they came to a glen in which 
the blue-berries grew so thickly that you could n't 
step without crushing a handful. The boys gave 
a shout of delight and flung themselves down, 
heedless of their clothes, and began to eat with 
boyish greed. As far as their eyes could reach 
between the mossy pine trunks, the ground was 
blue with berries, except where bunches of ferns 
or clusters of wild flowers intercepted the view. 
When they had dulled the edge of their hunger, 
they began to cut the branches from the trees 
which the lumbermen had felled, and Ole Thom- 
lemo, who was clever with his hands, twisted 
withes, which they used instead of ropes for tying 
their bundles together. They had one bundle 
well secured and another under way, when Ole, 
with a mischievous expression, ran over to Lars 
and whispered something in his ear. 

" Let us play hide-and-seek," said Lars aloud, 
glancing over toward his little brother, who was 
working like a Trojan, breaking the faggots so as 
to make them all the same length. 

Thor, who in spite of many exasperating experi- 
ences had not yet learned to be suspicious, threw 
down an armful of dry boughs and answered: 
"Yes, let us, boys ! I am in for anything." 

'■' 1 '11 blind first," cried Ole Thomlemo ; " now, 
be quick and get yourselves hidden." 

And off the two brothers ran, while Ole turned 
his face against a big tree and covered his eyes 
with his hands. But the very moment Thor was 
out of sight, Lars stole back again to his friend, 
and together they stepped away under cover of 
the bushes, until they reached the lower end of the 
glen. There, they pulled out their fish-lines, cut 
rods with their hatchets, and went down to the 
tarn, or brook, which was only a short distance 
off; the fishing was excellent, and when the large 
speckled trout began to leap out of the water to 
catch their flies, the two boys soon ceased to 
trouble themselves about little Thor, who, they 
supposed, was hiding under some bush and wait- 
ing to be discovered. 

In this supposition they were partly right and 
partly wrong. 

No sooner had Ole Thomlemo given the signal 
for hiding, than Thor ran up the hill-side, stum- 
bling over the moss-grown stones, pushing the un- 
derbrush aside with his hands, and looking eagerly 
for a place where he would be least likely to be 
found. He was full of the spirit of the game, and 
anticipated with joyous excitement the w-onder of 
the boys when they should have to give up the 
search and call to him to reveal himself While 
these thoughts were filling his brain, he caught 
sight of a huge old fir-tree, which was leaning down 
the mountain-side as if ready to fall. The w'ind had 
evidently given it a pull in the top, strong enough 
to loosen its hold on the ground, and yet not 
strong enough to overthrow it. On the upper side, 
for a dozen yards or more, the thick, twisted roots, 
with the soil and turf still clinging to them, had 
been lifted, so as to form a little den about two 
feet wide at the entrance. Here, thought Thor, 
was a wonderful hiding-place. Chuckling to him- 
self at the discomfiture of his comrades, he threw 
himself down on his knees and thrust his head 
into the opening. To his surprise the bottom felt 
soft to his hands, as if it had been purposely cov- 
ered with moss and a layer of feathers and eider- 
down. He did not take heed of the peculiar wild 
smell which greeted his nostrils, but fearlessly 
pressed on, until nearly his whole figure, with the 
exception of the heels of his boots, was hidden. 
Then a sharp little bark startled him, and raising 
his head he saw eight luminous eyes staring at him 
from a dark recess, a few feet beyond his nose. It 
is not to be denied that he was a little frightened ; 
for it instantly occurred to him that he had unwit- 
tingly entered the den of some wild beast, and that, 
in case the old ones were at home, there was small 

* The national knife of Norway. It has a round or oblong handle of wood, bone, or ivorj-, often beautifully curb ed, and a slightly- 
curved, one-edged blade, with a sharp point 



chance of his escaping with a whole skin. It could 
hardly be a bear's den, for the entrance was not 
half big enough for a gentleinan of Bruin's size. 
It might possibly be a wolf's premises he was 
trespassing upon, and the idea made his blood run 
cold. For Mr. Graylegs, as the Norwegians call 
the wolf, is not to be trifled with ; and a small boy 
armed only with a knife was hardly a match for 
such an antagonist. Thor concluded, without 
much reflection, that his safest plan would be to 
beat a hasty retreat. Digging his hands into the 
mossy ground, he tried to push himself backward, 
but, to his unutterable dismay, he could not budge 
an inch. The feathers, interspersed with the smooth 
pine-needles, slipped under his fingers, and, more- 
over, the roots caught in his clothes and held him 
as in a vice. He tried to force his way, but the more 
he wriggled the more he realized how small was 
his chance of escape. To turn was impossible, and 
to pull off his coat and trousers was a scarcely less 
difficult task. It was fortunate that the four inhabit- 
ants of the den, to whom the glaring eyes belonged, 
seemed no less frightened than himself ; for they 
remained huddled together in their corner, and 
showed no disposition to fight. They only stared 
wildly at the intruder, and seemed anxious to 
know what he intended to do next. And Thor 
stared at them in return, although the darkness 
was so dense that he could discern nothing except 
the eight luminous eyes, which were fixed upon 
him with an uncanny and highly uncomfortal^le ex- 
pression. Unpleasant as the situation was, he 
began to grow accustomed to it, and he collected 
his scattered thoughts sufficiently to draw certain 
conclusions. The size of the den, as well as the 
feathers which everywhere met his fumbling hands, 
convinced him that his hosts were young foxes, 
and that probably their respected parents, for the 
moment, were on a raid in search of rabbits or 
stray poultry. That reflection comforted him, for 
he had never known a fox to use any other weapon 
of defense than its legs, unless it was caught in 
a trap and had to fight for bare life. He was just 
dismissing from his mind all thought of danger 
from that source, when a sudden sharp pain in his 
heel put an end to his reasoning. He gave a 
scream, at which the eight eyes leaped apart in 
pairs and distributed themselves in a row along 
the curving wall of the den. Another bite in his 
ankle convinced hiin that he was being attacked 
from behind, and he knew no other way of defense 
than to kick with all his might, screaining at the 
same time so as to attract the attention of the 
boys, who, he supposed, could hardly be firr oft". 
But his voice sounded choked and feeble in the 
close den, and he feared that no one would be able 
to hear it ten yards away. The strong odor, too. 

began to stifle him, and a strange dizziness wrapped 
his senses, as it were, in a gray, translucent veil. 
He inade three or four spasmodic efforts to rouse 
himself, screamed feebly and kicked; but probably 
he struck his wounded ankle against a root or a 
stone, for the pain shot up his leg and made him 
clinch his teeth to keep the tears from starting. 
He thought of his poor mother, whom he feared 
he should never see again, and how she would watch 
for his return through the long night and cry for 
him, as it said in the Bible that Jacob cried over 
Joseph when he supposed that a wild beast had torn 
him to pieces and killed him. Curious lights, like 
shooting stars, began to move before his eyes; his 
tongue felt dryand parched, and his throat seemed 
burning hot. It occurred to him that certainly 
God saw his peril and might yet help him, if he 
only prayed for help ; but the only prayer which he 
could remember was the one which the minister 
repeated every Sunday for " our most gracious 
sovereign, Charles XV., and the ariny and navy 
of the United Kingdoms." Next he stumbled upon 
"the clergy, and the congregations committed to 
their charge"; and he was about to finish with 
" sailors in distress at sea," when his words, like his 
thoughts, grew more and more hazy, and he drifted 
away into unconsciousness. 

Lars and Ole Thomlemo in the meanwhile 
had enjoyed themselves to the top of their bent, 
and when they had caught a dozen trout, among 
which was one three-pounder, they reeled up 
their lines, threaded the fish on withes, and began 
to trudge leisurely up the glen. When they came 
to the place where they had left their bundles of 
faggots, they stopped to shout for Thor, and when 
they received no reply, they imagined that, being 
tired of waiting, he had gone home alone, or fallen 
in with some one who was on his way down to the 
valley. The only thing that troubled them was 
that Thor's bundle had not been touched since 
they left him, and they knew that the boy was not 
lazy, and that, moreover, he would be afraid to 
go home without the faggots. They therefore 
concluded to search the copse and the surrounding 
underbrush, as it was just possible that he might 
have fallen asleep in his hiding-place while waiting 
to be discovered. 

" 1 think Thor is napping somewhere under 
the bushes," cried Ole Thomlemo, swinging his 
hatchet over his head like an Indian tomahawk. 
" We shall have to halloo pretty loud, for you 
know he sleeps like a top." 

And they began scouring the underbrush, trav- 
ersing it in all directions, and hallooing lustily, 
both singly and in chorus. They were just about 
giving up the quest, when Lars's attention was at- 
tracted by two foxes which, undismayed by the 


M I K K E L . 


noise, were running about a large fir-tree, barking 
in a way which betrayed anxiety, and stopping 
every minute to dig up the ground with their fore- 
paws. When the boys approached the tree, the 
foxes ran only a short distance, then stopped, ran 
back, and again fled, once more to return. 

" Those fellows act very quecrly," remarked 
Lars, eying the foxes curiously; "'I'll wager 
there arc young un's under the tree here, but " 
— Lars gasped for breath — " Ole — Ole — Oh, look ! 
What is this?" 

Lars had caught sight of a pair of heels, from 
which a little stream of blood had been trickling, 
coloring the stones and pine-needles. Ole Thom- 
lemo, hearing his comrade's exclamation of fright, 
was on the spot in an instant, and he compre- 
hended at once how everything had happened. 

" Look here, Lars," he said resolutely, " this is 
no time for crying. If Thor is dead, it is we 
who have killed him ; but if he is n't dead, we 'vc 
got to save him." 

" Oh, what shall we do, Ole?" sobbed Lars, while 
the tears rolled down over his cheeks, " what shall 
we do ? I shall never dare go home again if he is 
dead. We have been so very bad to him ! " 

" We have got to save him, I tell you," repeated 
Ole, tearless and stern ; " we must pull him out ; 
and if we can't do that, we must cut through 
the roots of this fir-tree ; then it '11 plunge down the 
mountain-side, without hurting him. A few roots 
that have burrowed into the rocks are all that keep 
the tree standing. Now, act like a man. Take 
hold of him by one heel and I '11 take the other." 

Lars, who looked up to his friend as a kind of 
superior being, dried his tears and grasped his 
brother's foot, while Ole carefully handled the 
wounded ankle. But their combined eftbrts had 
no perceptible effect, except to show how inex- 
tricably the poor lad's clothes were intertangled 
with the tree-roots, which, growing all in one 
direction, made entrance easy, but exit impos- 

"That wont do," said Ole, after three vain 
trials. "We might injure him without knowing it, 
driving the sharp roots into his eyes and ears, 
as likely as not. We 've got to use the hatcliets. 
You cut that root and I '11 manage this one." 

Ole Thomlemo was a lumberman's son, and 
since he was old enough to walk had spent his life 
in the forest. He could calculate with great 
nicety how a tree would fall, if cut in a certain 
way, and his skill in this instance proved valuable. 
With six well-directed cuts he severed one big 
root, while Lars labored at a smaller one. Soon 
with a great crash the mighty tree fell down the 
mountain-side, crushing a dozen birches and 

(To A 

smaller pines under its weight. The moss-grown 
sod around about was torn up with the remaining 
roots, and three pretty little foxes, bhnded and 
stunned by the rush of daylight, sprang out from 
their hole and stared in bewilderment at the sud- 
den change of scene. Through the cloud of flying 
dust and feathers the boys discerned, too, Thor's 
insensible form, lying outstretched, torn and bleed- 
ing, his face resting upon his hands, as if he were 
asleep. With great gentleness they lifted him up, 
brushed the moss and earth from his face and 
clothes, and placed him upon the grass by the side 
of the brook which flowed through the bottom 
of the glen. Although his body was warm, they 
could hardly determine whether he was dead or 
alive, for he seemed scarcely to be breathing, and 
it was not until Ole put a feather before his mouth 
and perceived its faint inward and outward move- 
ment, that they felt reassured and began to take 
heart. They bathed his temples with the cool 
mountain water and rubbed and chafed his hands, 
until at last he opened his eyes wonderingly and 
moved his lips, as if endeavoring to speak. 

"Where am 1?" he whispered at last, after 
several vain efforts to make himself heard. 

" Why, cheer up, old fellow," answered Ole, en- 
couragingly; "you have had a little accident, 
that 's all, but you 'II be all right in a minute." 

"Unbutton my vest," whispered Thor again; 
" there is something scratching me here." 

He put his hand over his heart, and the boys 
quickly tore his waistcoat open, but to their unut- 
terable astonishment a little fox, the image of the 
three that had escaped, put his head out and 
looked about him with his alert eyes, as if to say ; 
"Here am I; how do you like me?" He evi- 
dently felt so comfortable where he was, that he 
had no desire to get away. No doubt the little 
creature, prompted either by his curiosity or a de- 
sire to escape from the den, had crept into Thor's 
bosom while he was insensible, and, finding his 
quarters quite to his taste, had concluded to re- 
main. Lars picked him up, tied a string about 
his neck, and put him in the side-pocket of his 
jacket. Then, as it was growing late, Ole lifted 
Thor upon his back, and he and Lars took turns 
in carrying him down to the valley. 

Thor's ankle gave him some trouble, as the 
wound was slow in healing. With that excep- 
tion, he was soon himself again ; and he and 
Mikkel (for that was the name he gave to the little 
fox) grew to be great friends and had many a frolic 

But the little fox was not a model of deportment, 
as you will see when 1 tell you, in the next chapter, 
how Mikkel disgraced himself 

ontinucd. ) 




By S. Conant Foster. 

There 'S a land in a latitude near to us all 
Where each dweller may follow his bent ; 

It is under no monarch's tyrannical thrall, 
And is known as the Isle of Content. 

It 's a wonderful spot : if you ask, it will bring 
To you quickly whate'er you desire ; 

What it can not produce — ( it 's a singular thing), — 
That is just what you never require. 

By the balmiest zephyrs of Happiness fanned, 

It is neither too cold nor too hot. 
And the lassies and lads never care in this land 

Whether school is in session or not. 

In Content, tho' but poor, yet you feel, ne'erthe- 

You are equal in wealth to a king, 

I HAVE great difficulty at first in making any 
one believe that I am a detective, because I 
hav'n't a hooked nose, nor a fierce black mustache, 
nor a restless, penetrating gray eye. On the con- 
trary, my nose is aquiline, I have no mustache at 
all, and my eyes are mild and blue. But this has 
nothing to do with the cruise of the pirate-ship 
" Moonraker. " 

One afternoon in August — a hot, sultry after- 

While a tear in the trousers or darn in the dress 
You consider a capital thing. 

If you have n't the money to purchase a meal 
(I have been in that strait once or twice), 

Take a reef in your vest and you '11 instantly feel 
(If you live in Content) "very nice." 

When I notice a lad with a bright, sunny smile 

That extends for three inches, or more, 
Then I nudge myself inwardly, thinking, the 

'■ He 's encamped on Content's happy shore." 

1 have dwelt on this beautiful island at times, 
While inditing small verses for you, 

And I often have wondered if, reading my rhymes, 
You were there as a resident, too. 

noon — I was idly resting at Police Station No. i, 
and the reserve squad were sitting about the 
room, with their coats, vests, and collars off, try- 
ing to keep cool. We were discussing the adven- 
tures of a small boy who had run away from his 
home in the country a short time before, and had 
made an attempt to start for the West to be an 
Indian-fighter. I had caught him, while he was 
trving to buy a worn-out musket from a pawn- 

( Disrcsf-^it/ully dedicated to young readers of trashy literature.) 




broker. We found that his head had been turned 
by reading " flash," or trashy, stories, and we 
locked him up overnight and sent him back to 
his father, the homesickest, meekest, and worse- 
scared youth you ever saw. Well, as 1 said, 
we were talking over his case, and Officer Bounce 
was saying that if that boy were his son, he would 
keep him locked up in the smoke-house for a year, 
when suddenly the telegraph instrument began 

Glenn," he said, turning to me, "come into my 
office. I have something else for you to do." 

Now, you may believe that I was disappointed at 
this turn of affairs. I was expecting to have a 
stirring time with the men on the police-boat; for 
if a gang of roughs were really trying to burn up 
the city, it meant the liveliest kind of a row. How- 
ever, I had to do as the captain said, and there- 
fore I followed him rather sulkilv into his office. 

to click " L. M.," which was the call for Station i, 
concluding with " K.," which meant that it came 
from the sub-station on the river front. 

The operator answered the call, and took down 
quite a long message. Then he gave a sharp 
whistle, and ran into the captain's office. A mo- 
ment after, the captain rushed out, with the dis- 
patch, which he read aloud : 

" A gang of river roiigii? have stolen a yacht, and are sailing up 
the river, — setting fire to the sliipping near Harbor street. The 
police-boat is getting up steam. [ have sent the alarm of fire- 
Make the greatest haste. 

" D.\LTON, Captain of Sub-station, " 

The men sprang to their feet, and the captain 
said quietly to the sergeant of the reserves, for 
there was no use in getting excited : 

" Sergeant : Report with your men on the police- 
boat at once, and take what measures arc neces- 
sary for the suppression of whatever lawlessness is 
going on. Telegraph if you need assistance. Mr. 
Vol. Xll.— 3. 


To mv surprise, a richly dressed lady was seated 
there, whom I recognized as Mrs. Carlton Bronson, 
the wife of one of the leading merchants of the 
city. She had not the slightest idea that I knew 
who she was, however, and as soon as the captain 
entered the room she burst into tears (which I 
could see were not the first she had shed that 
afternoon), and exclaimed : 

"Oh, Captain! My poor child! Have you 
learned anything about him ? Can anything be 
done ? " 

The captain turned to me and said: "Glenn, 
go with this lady to her house. She '11 tell you 
her story on the way. and you must do what vou 
think best about it." And he winked with that 
eye which was concealed from Mrs, Bronson's 
vision, to let me know that the case was not as bad 
as she thought. .Mrs. Bronson had risen from her 
seat before he could conclude his orders to me, 
and she said beseechingly : 

"Oh, come at once, Mr. Glenn ! There is not 
a moment to lose. My carriage is waiting at the 

Surely enough, the carriage was waiting, and 
a number of small boys and two or three reporters 
were waiting also, astonished at the sight of the 
elegant equipage in that locality. One of the 



reporters tried to button-hole me, but I got into 
the carriage safely with the lady, who called to the 
coachman: "Don't lose a moment. Get me 
home as quickly as possible. " And we rolled 
away so rapidly that the reporters gave us up, and 
went into the station to make life miserable for the 

Mrs. Bronson told me that, while she was absent 
from home on a shopping expedition that morn- 
ing, the house had been entered by burglars, who 
had stolen a great deal of the family silver and 
most of her own jewelry. But this was not the 
worst of their depredations, for they had kid- 
napped her youngest child, little Harry, aged 
twelve years ; and at this point Mrs. Bronson 
wept again, and was unable to go on with her 
story until we reached the house. There she told 
me that Harry was a very quiet and studious boy, 
and spent most of his time reading in his room. 
It was quite impossible that he had gone out with 
any of his little friends without saying anything 
about it, for he was obedient and tractable, and 
never left the house without informing some one 
where he was going. I told Mrs. Bronson that it 
would be impossible for burglars to enter the 
house and carry away valuables in the middle of 
the day, especially as the servants were about at 
the time ; but she was quite indignant that I 
should combat her theories. She showed me 
the places where the missing silver and jewelrj- had 
been kept ; and I informed her that the articles 
had been stolen by some one familiar with the 
premises, at which she seemed inclined to send me 
back to the station. 

However, when I asked to be shown her boy's 
room, she took me into a prettily furnished apart- 
ment, containing more appliances for the amuse- 
ment of a boy of twelve than I supposed had ever 
been invented. Connected with this room was a 
smaller sleeping-apartment, and at the sight of the 
little white bed, Mrs. Bronson went into a third 
fit of weeping. She seemed to forget my pres- 
ence, and finally went to the little bureau and 
opened the drawers, one after the other, to gaze 
at the articles which had belonged to her lost boy. 
I was in no hurry, as I am paid by the year, 
and so 1 sat down in an easy-chair and tried to 
think out some theory for the disappearance of the 
silver and jewelry. I was sure that the boy had 
not been kidnapped. In the first place, he was 
too old ; and then, too, he had been missed only 
a few hours, and had probably gone off to play 
with some of his friends. 

While I was engaged in these reflections, a very 
"swell" young man, of about twenty-one years, 
entered the room — one of those young men who 
maintain an equilibrium by parting their hair in 

the middle and wearing a watch in each side of 
the waistcoat. This particular young man further 
balanced a slender cane, which he carried in his 
right hand, by a yellow kid glove in the left. Mrs. 
Bronson ■ fell on his neck and shed tears on his 
standing collar, which threatened to melt it down 
from its glossy altitude under his adolescent chin. 

"Oh, my dearest Charles!" she exclaimed. 
" You are all 1 have left now. Your little brother 
Harry has been kidnapped by burglars ! " 

Charles looked as if he did n't care very much, 
but he said : 

"Aw, you don't mean it! But what do you 
think ! Somebody has stolen my yacht, the ' Norse- 
man.' Can't find her anywhere. Awful bore, 
you know, because 1 'd invited a party to go out 
this afternoon." 

While they were talking, I caught a glimpse of a 
soiled, yellow-covered book in one of the bureau 
drawers. 1 took it up. It was 77/t' Adventii7-i's of 
IVild Bill J and scattered about the drawer were 
several others with similar titles, such as Dare-devil 
Dick, the Terror of the Seas, The Boy Pirate, 
The Symbol of the Red Hand, and The Pirate's 
Bride. The truth flashed upon me in a moment. 
The boy's mind had been poisoned by reading 
this trash, and he had stolen his mother's silver 
and his brother's yacht to go on a piratical cruise 
of his own. That might account, also, for the mes- 
sage which came to the police station, about roughs 
burning up the shipping. Possibly Harry, with 
some of his companions, had set fire to something, 
and the story had been exaggerated — as stories 
generally are before reaching the station. 

I said nothing of my theories to Mrs. Bronson 
or her son ; but merely informing her that I had 
a clew which I thought sufficient to work upon, and 
that I would guarantee to bring back her child 
before morning, I left the house and went directly 
to the station, where I laid my views before the 
captain. He told me that Mr. Bronson had been 
in since I left, and that he, knowing more of boy- 
nature than his wife, had an idea that his son might 
have run away, particularly as he had also taken a 
hint from the yellow-covered literature in Harry's 
room. The captain told me to go and look for the 
stolen yacht along the river front, and to take pos- 
session of it if I found it in charge of Harry and his 
companions, — for, of course, he had taken com- 
panions with him. Meantime, he would send Mr. 
Bronson on board the police-boat, and instruct his 
men to look for the yacht, up and down the river. 

I knew the mooring-place of the " Norseman" in 
front of the boat-club houses, and I went, at once, to 
the spot. There I found additional indications that 
boys had been at work, for a bonfire had been kin- 
dled ; and no boy ever started out on an adventure 




of any kind that did n't include a fire. The flame 
had set fire to a boat-house, and had burned it to 
the ground, which had probably — as 1 surmised — 
started the rumor of roughs burning the shipping. 
I walked down the river until 1 had left the city a 
mile behind, and in a little bay I caught sight of a 
yacht moored to a wooden pier which had belonged 
to an old boat-house, now falhng to decay. It was 
the " Norseman," but over the name on the stern a 
piece of coarse, brown packing-paper had been 

jewelry-casket ; but Harry and his companions were 
nowhere to be seen. I started to go up again, but 
just as my eyes rose to a level with the deck, a 
small hand seized my collar, and the touch of the 
cold steel of a revolver against my temple made me 
shiver, while a boy's voice screamed excitedly : 

" Another step, you varlet, and 1 fire ! " 

Half a dozen boys, from ten to fifteen years 
of age, clustered around me. What could 1 do? 
Mrs. Bronson's beloved youngster was holding 


tacked, which bore in rudely painted letters the 
words, •' The Moonraker," and an attempt at a 
representation of a skull and cross-bones. 

There were no boys to be seen on the deck of the 
yacht, and 1 concluded that they had left her and 
gone ashore on a foraging expedition. Accordingly, 
I went out on the end of the pier and jumped 
aboard. The yacht was a small vessel, about 
thirty feet in length, and it had a cabin amidships. 
Into this cabin 1 descended, and there, in a con- 
fused heap, was a pile of silver and Mrs. Bronson's 

to my head a glistening seven-shooter, which 
carried a number thirty-two cartridge, as big as 
the end of my little finger, and a boy could pull 
that trigger with just as fatal results as a man. A 
boy of his age, too, would be just foolish enough 
never to give a thought to the fact that he was com- 
mitting an act which would blight his whole life. 

The only thing to do was to submit as grace- 
fully as possible, and so those boys tied me hand 
and foot with heavy cord, which is always a part 
of the bov-adventurcr's outfit. He mav want it 


to tie up Indians with, you know. I saw that 
Harry Bronson had for his companions a number 
of rough street-boys, some of whom were older 
than himself, and who had come on the trip merely 
for the fun of it. He had his father's revolver, 
however, and they stood in some awe of that and 
of his fine clothes. But this feeling would soon 
have W'Orn off, and then they would have done as 
they pleased with him and the 3'acht. At present, 
however, he was commander, and he now gave 
orders to make sail. I was afraid the boys would 
be unable to run the yacht ; but as there was 
a dead calm, I knew they could not get into 

Of course, Harry was unaware that 1 was a de- 
tective — my appearance being, this time, in my 
favor — and they had only captured me on the 
general principle that a pirate-ship is hardly a 
success without a few prisoners. Master Harry 
did me the honor to converse Avith me as I lay in 
the hot cabin. He told me that his name was 
" The Boy Terror," and seemed very much sur- 
prised when I told him what his name really «as. 

" I just left your mother," I said, " and if you 
knew how badly she felt, and could see her crying 
and sobbing because her son, whom she had 
always considered an honorable little gentleman, 
had actually become a thief, I think you 'd be 
inclined to go back home, and leave these dirty 
little rascals you 've picked out for companions." 

Harry winced at the allusion to his mother's 
grief, which made me think that he was not a bad 
boy at heart, and 1 believe that in time I could 
have induced him to take the yacht back quietly, 
if one of the boys on deck had not called out : 

" Hullo, Terror ! Here comes a boat." 

Harry bustled up on deck. I had no doubt 
that it was the police-boat, as no merchant vessels 
navigated that part of the river. But whatever it 
was, it did not come up to us, and a bend in the 
river soon hid us from sight. Ere long, '' The Boy 
Terror" came into the cabin again, and the boys on 
deck had evidently talked him into carrying out 
his piratical designs. Nothing I could say moved 
him. He gave me the cheerful information that 
I was to be hanged at sunrise. I informed him 
that I was glad he had decided not to make me 
walk the plank, for I might have got my feet wet. 
Then I told him he ought to be ashamed to 
steal his brother's boat, especially as that young 
nobleman had invited some friends to go out in it 
that afternoon. 

'■ Pooh !" said " The Boy Terror." ■■ 1 asked 
CharUe if I could take the yacht this morning, 
and he stuck a one-barreled eye-glass in his eye — 
(he tries to be awfully English since he went abroad 
for three months, and he 's practicing with that 

eye-glass at home 'cause he 's afraid to try it yet in 
the street) — and then he called me a ' nuisance.' 
1 'm going to capture him, and not send him home 
until I get a ransom. I should n't think Papa 
would pay anything to get him back, though," he 
added, meditatively. 

It grew late in the afternoon, and, as no wind 
sprang up, the yacht still lay in the little bay, near 
the old boat-house. When it began to grow dark 
in the cabin, I asked to be allowed to go on deck 
and see the sun set for the last time, as I was to be 
hanged in the morning. Accordingly, my feet 
were loosened enough for me to go upstairs, and 
1 was permitted to lie down on the deck. 

" Bo's'n ! " called " The Boy Terror," " pipe all 
hands to supper." 

And disappearing into the cabin, he brought up 
a scjuare tin box, labeled in gilt letters " Cake." 
This was filled with nice fresh cakes, which he 
informed me, the cook had baked for him that 
morning ; and he fed me one or two of them as I 
lay with my hands and feet tied. 

We watched the sun go down into the river be- 
low us ; and when the moon came up and fantastic 
shadows lengthened upon the water, and uncouth 
shapes were revealed in the shades upon the shore, 
" The Boy Terror " became remarkably quiet and 
subdued. To keep his courage up, he began to 
relate wonderful stories of the adventures of Cap- 
tain Kidd and other pirates. 

"I 'm going to write a song like Captain 
Kidd's," he said. " 1 've begun it already: 

'' ■ Oh, my name was The Boy Terror, as I sailed, 
And many wicked things I did, as I sailed. 
Oh, I murdered ' 

"What 's your name?" he asked, suddenly 
breaking off. 

■" John Flood," I said, giving a name I some- 
times went by. 

The Terror continued : 

" Oh, I murdered John Flood, as I sailed, 
-And left him in his blood, as I sailed." 

This was cheerful ; but here he suddenly 
stopped, for the hoarse throbbing of a steamer 
sounded over the still waters, and soon a red eye 
of fire shot into the night from the river's bend. I 
divined at once that it was the powerful lantern of 
the police-boat, which, since it made directly to- 
ward us, had probably been directed to our location 
by some one who had seen the yacht from the shore. 

The boys sprang to their feet in consternation 
as the vessel came up alongside, and turned full 
upon us a calcium light, which made everything 
as bright as day on board the yacht. 1 saw among 
the policemen on board the other boat, a well- 



dressed gentleman, who carried a lithe and supple 
cane, and 1 knc\v it was Mr. Bronson, the father 
of "The Boy Terror." He caught sight of his 
son, and called out excitedly ; 

"There's the little rascal, now! What do you 
mean, sir, by running away from home and fright- 
ening your mother ahnost to death?" 

At this moment the boats were close enough for 
the officers to jump from one to the other. But 
" The Boy Terror" suddenly remembered that he 
was a pirate, and he drew the revolver. 

" You little idiot ! " I cried. " Put that up, or 
you 'II hurt somebody ! " And the officers, who 
were preparing to jump aboard, shrank back. 

"Never mind that pop-gun!" shouted I\Ir. 
Bronson, furioush . " It is n't loaded, and never 
has been." And he suddenly jumped upon the 
deck, snatched the revolver from the Terror's 
grasp, threw it overboard, and began to wield that 
lithe and supple cane swiftly and fiercely over the 
unfortunate young pirate's back and shoulders. 
"The Boy Terror" screamed, begged, and im- 
plored; he promised to "be good" and "never 
to do so again," but his father did not cease plying 

the cane until he was satisfied that the boy's pun- 
ishment was complete. 

"There, you young vagabond," he exclaimed^ 
" that 's the first whipping I ever gave you, but it 
will nut be the last." And he took him by the 
collar upon the police-boat, where the vanquished 
pirate crept abjectly into a corner and wept with 
pain and mortification. 

You should have seen the officers laugh when 
they found me tied hand and foot. They laugh 
about it to this day, and 1 probably never shall 
hear the last of it. 

Never was a piratical cruise more thoroughly 
broken up. We took " The Boy Terror's " asso- 
ciates to the station, and scared them well by locking 
them up overnight. Young Harry Bronson fared 
worse; for his father restricted him to bread and 
water and one room, for a week. However, his 
" swell " brother, Charles, had compassion on him, 
and looked in upon him without the one-barreled 
eye-glass, and brought him Rohiiison Crusoe and 
The Swiss Family Robinson. Harry is a young 
man now, but he is said to still dislike to hear allu- 
sions to the cruise of the pirate-ship " INIoonrakei . ' 



1884. J 



id tke worfcf. 

''^^oane4 ^\^c/^(^lden all forlorn - 

here 5 noT a cow upon The earJK 
B^J^ (^"iS a crumplecl. ^ f»orn'.' 
^ne wi'un^^her hancl^ Iff very S^Q ' 
*J/\e wept: "Ok dear, wlmt ^Kal] "J cfo f 
wKole wicje worlcj jbrlorn 
"iS even jlre very, xky 


Kere'5 nothir^ worth the j'tv'mh for/' 
•^r- J'^'d ^1^^ "^'^ many a 
We'll 5eek jome oujel', far-ow $hoP, 
/^y jyincllecl cow I ' ' 

AnJ there tenedii^ a Kaw'tKorn Jree 
^HA#e^I| totk lie ch-- 

cjown a 

iKe I-villy a'-' clown 
erecl the t'wo 

. five dale/ 

In tl-ve lovely ^ warm ^bnnk weafker. 

man^ tv> trook tked' tamed ? 
ever tne ^VWlden mournpi 1 1^ ^wun^ 
Fke milkin^-iTool slie carried ''■^^ ^3^1> ■ 

5k Sebt a"'^ /fill ;ke ;iSkecl~^:::2^3 

y\"<"Wk^t A^l'l I do ?" ^i^ked /kl , 

in elU tlve^ world '^oA.ox'w \ pn4 

evef" a 








I wa/ tke all'zre^ c?^ torn 

j^elc! of corn. • 
|l5 clinnep-pall ^toocj at t[>e ^oot flietr^o; 
*IS tolterecl old Coa-t lay fce^icje it wL'lc lye 
ifoi'keci on at klS /*ow • 

tke il|m4'e» all 

_^i»ivih.J tke C0W wifl* firs CPiiropW fiom- 
5aw |\er» wee|3 , ke keai'cl liet' ■^t^k 

poi» tL |^ar-o|f ^ £j3ot I'n wKick to Q\y , 
l\e s-ixid ''pyetfy mniden, J'll 60 too 
tl>e K-iXwtkorn tl-ee to c'i^ wi'Ik ^oii '' 

^0 over Ti>e Cl"'' clown ti^e dcv-iej" 

VVandepeti tive tj>i-ee "to^etker 
Till t|v<?^ met, b/ tke Lr'ooK 1l>&.t r'l[5joli flow^ 

I'D Wj" , 


^"■^ wkere you ^oU^ ? cj^iiotk ke; 

lo"; J aid tl-ve /il^B' till T?sJK#cI k'''^ tbrii ^ 

#e 5o moaned tk 

o ci'-y neati> tke kawtl-^ortv tpec^f 








i( o over 

own tf»e cle^lej* 
If|^t*ec| "five ^^iif ^o^&fi-vet" : 
Tlve tmncllect Cow w/'ti> tl»e r^/'umli/eci Hoiuy. 

'Tk^ H&^^y wi% Coat all -kftefeci a."'' -tern 

^^"^ live 0(4 /^Q.-)y clre/yeri m I^e^ycr; 

li>ey met, Ij^ five- CocK wlvefc ff>e Coluo^tmej" ^row, 

/i" to n"*^' ^Vo ; 
^ |( (V7V ytrsllaw jD'c^ fi>at Tar> [j<^~sicie 




' ' I tii . ■ , V ^ ^ .1 III ii , u,„J .1. ,'".'1 'i't^K'-f , 

■j^^^^fei!^ \ t^/r-" -^1 t>e> orvc boQj' pone ^*^yp'-'?^^Tjl^ 

^^■:Ar^&''jfuck cl merry, merry fimeV-S^ 

tke brookj in Jtme_ ^^^^Ig^ 
in^^ai* 1i\ey' Kurry c|owrv th-e 'w)i»>T''^^J>^^^^^«j 

On 8. j^uimy de^y^^^S^^^*^ 

kere'5 notln'n^ wj^onp ii'^ O- 

e worjci 

^ Played li.c /IcJ^De ^a^ily. 
TUe 5im-t>eOiin5-/kU,tl»e wild b 
Tvew y^owefi" b|o55om c 
liXnCe" ti^*? |eave5 on every 

■■TUe 5im-be;Mn5-/^ll,tl>e wild bird^ c^allj Throz.ighiti<^ l^W>'^S m^a^Jaius: 
Y""^ T>ew /lowefi' b|o55om daily. 

!a,n(:e //le /ne-r/^ iirooKs That r-Lin 





ot 0- Keai-f coujfj |>eai' it 

"^rijy^ l>app^ ajf dici run 

^ 4o >vo?idej^i I \y J oUy '\Mkenli\ey l^ ea.r4'H^^J»'iS(C J^rst 

Jjr\^jaig}> eujowrv E^e tf^e^ knew il'Jjauck efy^i-^jv, 

H/^ ^ • • ' • ^ 1-^ / - .-^K^' 

^oi-iM one , if lye Ka-ci tke will . tfve /jkv/VS q/®;/i>o:f;^*<^cjie 





n a'"' out" alrernatejy 
Retccarin& ev."^< advancing _ 1^^^ 


f tour me jnuJ-Td c'ame lb a ^ucjderv Kevlt" 
IAs, a ftat ran by witl> a J) rain (^/f^laJt- 
^ j^fble from, ffie WomB if^nfjktH b^i^^ ■ 
gK^ dai- ^dropped tKe //dale %^ i^r^ orv**Itat 

dieci C^ovA^ wjH> wrdtiv in- l\f r eye 
UvTo "tke 5l<> 


' ^ fi)v\orr\ 5ai" dowtv"to tvy 

Vu- Man all Utkrecl a,"^ idrn 

A'/Jser/ /i'MaSM n// /or/on J 

TJiHt milM'^':/ Cow uiCY^ //re criimjb/<?c/ ^ 

Thuf utof-re'cc/ y/ie €fd/~ 

Hat s/hU /^e Mi,//- 
ITiaf' /ay nt 7^,j 




By E. George Squier. 

Though America was, in truth, a " new world " 
to Europeans when Columbus discovered it for 
them, it was no new world to many of the races 
and tribes which inhabited various parts of its vast 
surface. For three centuries before the time of 
Columbus, Peru, in South America, had been a 
great country, containing large cities and rich in 
gold and silver. It was ruled by kings, or chiefs, 
called Incas, and, as many of you know, the last 
Inca was the one who was captured by Francisco 
Pizarro, the Spaniard, who conquered Peru in 
1532. From that time until about fifty years ago, 
when it revolted and became a republic, Peru was 
under the dominion of Spain. 

Cuzco," the ancient capital of the old Inca Em- 
pire of Peru, is situated high up among the Andes. 

at a point so elevated that, although under the 
tropics, it has the climate and products of the 
temperate zone. It still has many remains of Inca 
architecture, distinguished for its massiveness, and 
these are likely to endure for centuries to come. 
On a hill nearly a thousand feet high, overlooking 
the present city of Cuzco, are the remains of the 
great Inca fortress of the Sac-sa-hua-man, in the 
storming of which, Juan Pizarro, the brother of the 
conqueror of Peru, was slain. This fortress was 
built of gigantic stones, or rather rocks, and their 
great size and the accuracy with which they are 
fitted together astonish all who see them. 

In front of this fortress is a curious, dome-shaped 
mass of rock, called the Ro-da-dero, and some- 
times also La Picdra Lisa, or " smooth rock," 

^ Pronounced A'ors'/i" 




because its convex surface is grooved, as if the 
rock had been squeezed up, while in a plastic state, 
between irregular and unyielding walls, and then 
hardened into shape. A mass of dough, forced up 
under the outspread hands, would give something 
of the same appearance in miniature. But the 
hollows of the grooves on the Peruvian hill are 
smooth and glassy. It is said in the old chronicles 
and traditions, that the Inca youth, long years 
ago, amused themselves by coursing, or sliding, 
through these polished grooves on festival days and 
holy-days ; and this custom is still practiced by the 
modern youth of Cuzco. It must have been an 
amusing sight to have seen the royal "Children 
of the Sun," as they called themselves, sitting on 
the cold rock, going at full speed, and full of fun, 
from top to bottom, down the hill. And if the 
customs and dress of the present Cuzco boys are 
like those of their ancient predecessors, three hun- 
dred years ago, we can form some idea of the 

There is one advantage, and it is a great one, 
too, which these bo\s possess o\-er the northern 
boys, who live in the land of ice and snow, and 
that is, it is not necessary for them to toil up a long 
and slippery hill, dragging after them their heavy 
sleds, which grow heavier with every step they take, 
so that the longer they ride the harder work it is 
to get back to the starting-place. The Cuzco boy 
sits down at the top of the rock in one of the grooves, 
and, with a slight start, away he goes with all the 

speed imaginable, until he reaches the bottom, 
landing in a soft bed of earth ; then he picks him- 
self up, runs around to an easy place of ascent, 
and is up again in a minute to repeat his ride. It 
no doubt occurs to many of you that there would 
be trouble in store for some of the youngsteis on 
their arrival at home in the evening with their 
clothes torn and the heels and toes of their boots 
worn out. That no doubt would be the case if 
they lived in a country like ours ; but in Peru it 
makes but little difference if a boy is well dressed 
or not; and as for shoes, he never wears them, 
but goes barefoot all the \'ear round, and all 
through life. 

On the summit of the rock is a series of broad 
seats, cut in the rock itself rising one above the 
other, like a stair-way, and called "The Seats of 
the Inca." It is said the Incas, or Kings, them- 
selves came here to watch the construction of the 
fortress. From these seats they could also watch 
the gay sports of the boys, and perhaps recall the 
happy time when they were boys themselves, just 
as the old boys of our land often do, when w-atch- 
ing the sports of their descendants. 

But the glory of Cuzco has gone, and the royal 
Incas are no more. The city that w'as once the seat 
of an advanced civilization and the home of great 
and powerful kings, is now in a state of decay, and 
the descendants of the Inca kings are but sorry 
specimens of humanity, — ignorant, ragged, dirty, 
poorly fed, and rapidly passing away. 


ERHAPS I 'am little. But what of that ? 

I am big enough to find Charley's hat 
He left it here with its queer little feather, 
Lying right out in the wind and weather. 
He's searching now; I can hear him call; — 
Never thinking of me, because I am small. 
He 's shouting and calling to this one, and that, 
I say, have \ ou seen my gray felt hat ? " 

Oh, yes, 1 've seen it ! But //<■ does n't know. 
He thinks I am nothing but Baby Bo. 
That 's what they called me before I could walk : 
And now I can run, and jump, and talk. 

See him stooping and hunting out there in the hay ! 
He 'd find it right oft', if he 'd just look this way. 
Why does n't he see me ? Oho I Oho ! 
He thinks I am nothing but Baby Bo I 





liV JOKI, Stacv. 


Oh, the bicycle boys, 

The bicycle boys ! 
They care not for tops 

Or babyish toys ; 
They 're done with their hobbies 

And that sort of play, 
As mounted on nothing 

They 're off, and away ! 


Oh, the bicycle boys, 

The bicycle boys ! 
They travel along 

Without any noise. 

They travel so softly, 
They travel so fast, 

They always get somewhere, 
I 'm told, at the last. 


They race with each other. 

They race with a horse, 
All sure they will beat 

As a matter of course ; 
And often they win. 

And often they fall; — 
Then "down comes bicycle, 

Bov, and all ! " 


Bv George J. M.\xsox. 


" The world ivas all be/ore him ivlierc to choose." 

Let us suppose that a boy has arrived at the 
age when he wants to answer for himself and 
friends the question: "What work shall I do? 
What occupation shall 1 follow in which I can make 
name and fame and money ? " And the boy some- 
times, nay ofttimes. ruminating on this all-impor- 
tant subject thinks, we will imagine, in this wise : 
" I 'd like to be an architect or a house-builder. 
I wonder how 1 'd be pleased with such work? 
Wonder if it 's hard? No ; I 'd rather be a sea-cap- 
tain. But how do boys ever get to be sea-captains? 
To be a traveling salesman would be pleasant — to 
go all around the country and see the different 
cities, and stay only a little while here and a little 
while there. Yes, that would be fine ; but how do 
boys get to be traveling salesmen, and is it really as 
agreeable an occupation as I think it is ? Perhaps, to 
keep a store might be better. Really, 1 wish I 
did know what 1 would like to do best. 1 've asked 
Father ; he 's a lawyer, and though they say he 's 
great on 'authorities,' he is no authority on this 
matter. He just says I must think of what 1 want 
to be, and then start out. I do think, and the 

Vol. XII.— 4.. * Copyright by G. 

more I think, the less I am able to decide what 1 
want. If I only knew some one who could give me 
an idea about the good and bad features of the 
different occupations that I think I should like, 
why, 1 could decide very soon which one to take." 

If I am right in supposing there are a large 
number of boys who think as I have just suggested, 
the series of sketches, of which this is the first, 
will be found useful. My aim is to give in them 
what might be called an inside view of various 
trades and businesses which, as a rule, are attract- 
ive to youth, and to help the lad in either making 
his selection from a number of industries, or give 
him more light on the one which he feels sure will 
please him, but about the real nature of which he 
has probably only a cursory knowledge. In other 
words, the effort will be made to answer just such 
cjuestions as a boy would naturally ask about an 
occupation while he was making up his mind as 
to whether or not he would like to enter it. 

On the general topic of how to succeed in life, I 
shall in these articles have little to say. Scores of 
books have been written on success, and hundreds 
of men, some great, but many small, have endeav- 
ored to tell us the secret of success. I have read 
many of these works, and doubtless my young 

J. Manson. 1SS4. 





readers have perused volumes of that kind ; but I 
have failed to find any new or short road to that 
goal for which we all are strix'ing. 

And so, at the outset, let my young reader un- 
derstand that 1 have no new or mysterious sug- 
gestions to make on ho'in he can be successful. 
Let him remember that in each and all of the 
occupations of which I shall speak, he must, if he 
would reach a high place in the business, work 
hard and be attentive, always willing to learn, 
steady in his habits, that he must choose good 
associates, and must have within him a thorough 
determination to work up higher. Success in anv 
calling, it seems to me, depends on a great many 
conditions, among which may be mentioned tem- 
perament, industry, quickness to learn from your 
own experience and the failures of those about 
you, and an ever-watchful eye for opportunities to 
reach a better position than the one you occupy. 

I shall aim to make these articles thoroughly 
reliable. The facts in regard to each calling have 
been obtained, in personal interviews, from promi- 
nent and trustworthy persons engaged therein. 


There have been two important changes in the 
drug business within the past few years. In the 
first place, the scope of the drug store has been 
enlarged. In old times the term "drugstore" 
indicated an establishment where simply drugs 
were kept. Now you can go to many drug stores 
and purchase cigars, tobacco, canes, umbrellas, 
tea, coffee, stationery, confectionery, and manv 
kinds of fancy articles. Some say that druggists 
have been forced into selling these goods on 
account of the competition they have had to con- 
tend against in the sale of patent medicines by dry- 
goods establishments and book stores, and because 
some of their own number sell the patent, or pro- 
prietary, medicines below the regular marked price. 
There is much truth in this statement, but I think 
there is another reason to account for the practice, 
and that is the increased rate of rent. In former 
times the item of rent was not so great as it is now, 
and the druggist could make a good living by con- 
fining himself to drugs proper. Now the expense 
for rent is a matter for serious financial considera- 
tion. It is true that the business yields a large 
percentage of profit, but the total sales are com- 
paratively small. At one time, when the calling 
was confined to its legitimate sphere, the profit 
was fifty per cent. Now the average rate of profit 
is probably twenty-five or thirty per cent. 

In the second place, the drug clerks of to-day 
are required to be better educated than those of 
former times. Many of the men — in fact, most of 

the men who are the owners of drug stores now — 
learned the business simply by working with a 
druggist for a greater or less period, and "picked 
up " their knowledge from behind the counter and 
at the prescription desk. Literally, they have 
"grown up" in the business. Some got into it 
accidentally. As boys, they were looking for 
something to do, they found a situation in a drug 
store, staid there because they could not find any 
better place, gradually obtained a knowledge of 
the business, and have made it their life-work. At 
the present time, in most of the States, a drug 
clerk is either required to serve a certain period in 
a store, and to pass a satisfactory examination as to 
his qualifications before he can become a licensed 
druggist, or else he must be a graduate of a college 
of pharmacy. 

In the allusion just made to the druggists who 
have not been compelled to comply with these 
conditions, I do not mean to be understood as 
stating that they are all incompetent druggists 
or pharmacists, for that would be untrue. Some 
men, under the most adverse circumstances, in 
any trade, business, or profession, will learn more 
and do better than others with every advantage. 
But it is not too much to affirm that, owing 
to this condition of affairs in the past, there are 
now many druggists and old clerks who have con- 
tented themselves with obtaining only a superfi- 
cial knowledge of their calling, and have burdened 
themselves with no more than enough information 
to get along quietly and comfortably. Hence, the 
assertion can be safely made that there is room 
for thoroughly competent, well-qualified drug 
clerks and druggists. 

Aside from the preliminary study required, it is 
not what may be called an easy business, at least 
in its early stages. It requires constant care, and, 
even with the best of care, money and reputation 
may be lost in a very short space of time, not 
through the fault of the druggist himself, but from 
the negligence, carelessness, dishonesty, or stu- 
pidity of his clerks. But such failures are rare, and 
only call for incidental mention. 

Now, what will a boy do who wants to be a 
druggist? He should be an apt scholar, quick to 
learn, and should have what may be called a good 
technical memory ; that is, the ability to keep in 
mind arbitrary terms and phrases. A knowledge 
of Latin, even of the rudimentary principles of 
that language, would be found very useful, while 
a taste for botany would be the very ground- 
work for love of the occupation, and an almost 
certain prophecy of success. He must have a good 
knowledge of the English branches, and, though 
he need not have a student's love for books, he 
must not be absolutely averse to study. These 


preliminaries borne in mind, let him, not earlier 
than at the age of sixteen, enter a drug store, tak- 
ing for wages any sum that is offered. It will be 
small, probably not more than two dollars a week, 
and he will have to board himself. But it is pre- 
sumed that he lives at home, and that his parents 
or guardians are giving him his living while he is 
making his start in life. For a year or two he will 
do little more than open and sweep out the store, 
carry medicines to the homes of customers, learn 
to do up packages neatly, and, perchance, his pro- 
fessional acquirements will have grown so great 
that he can be trusted to sell a seidlitz powder or 
a small cake of Windsor soap. But, no matter what 
he is allowed to do, he must, within two years, if 
he is a bright, observing boy, have gathered con- 
siderable miscellaneous information about drugs 
and the drug business. 

He is now prepared to enter a college of phar- 
macy. There are sixteen of these colleges, or 
schools, in the United States. There is a col- 
lege of pharmacy at each of the following cities : 
Albany, New York; San Francisco, California; 
Chicago, Illinois ; Cincinnati, Ohio ; Louisville, 
Kentucky ; Baltimore, Maryland ; Boston, Mas- 
sachusetts ; New York City, New York ; Philadel- 
phia, Pennsylvania ; Pittsburg, Pennsylvania ; St. 
Louis, Missouri; Washington, D. C, and Iowa 
City, Iowa. And there are schools of phai-macy 
connected with the Michigan LInivcrsity, the Uni- 
versity of Wisconsin, and the \'anderbilt Univer- 
sity of Nashville, Tennessee. 

It will not be necessary to speak of the method 
of instruction in each of these institutions. It is 
substantially the same in all. The plan pursued 
in the New York College will serve to show what 
is done in each. The full course extends over two 
years, and is divided into junior and senior classes. 
The instruction is by lectures and practical experi- 
ments. In the department of matvria iiicdica, all 
the parts of plants and animals that are used in 
medicine are described, the student being taught 
where they come from, how they are obtained, 
how they are used, and the proper doses to be 
given. In the chemical department, all the funda- 
mental principles of chemistry are presented and 
the chief compounds carefully studied, with special 
reference to their mode of occurrence in nature, 
the methods employed in their preparation, their 
effects upon and with other substances, the meth- 
ods for determining their purity, and their applica- 
tion in the arts. The great chemical operations are 
investigated, and the chemistry of the metals and 
organic chemistry studied in detail. Lectures are 
given on botany, illustrated by plates, diagrams, 
and plastic models. In the department of phar- 
macy the student is taught how to make the fin- 

ished product from the organic vegetable, or 
chemical. Analytical chemistry is taught, and 
the chemical nature of poisons, their antidotes, 
and the methods for detecting them. The total 
charge for full courses in the various departments 
is sixty dollars. To those who comply with the 
rules, and who pass a satisfactory examination, 
diplomas, conferring the title of Graduate in Phar- 
macy (Ph. G.), are granted. 

The student is now, or ought to be, a good 
pharmacist. He has had his early experience in 
the drug store ; he has obtained a large amount 
of theoretical knowledge at the college, and has 
seen there many interesting experiments in the 
laboratory and the lecture-room while attending 
college. Possibly he has kept his position in the 
store, working during the evenings of the week, in 
which case he has had a great advantage, for he 
has had daily opportunity to make a practical use 
of some of the knowledge he has gained. 

What does he do when he gets out of college ? 
If he is favorably situated financially, and feels 
confident that he has the ability, he may open a 
store for himself, or enter into partnership in some 
concern already established. If neither of these 
conditions exists, he will get a clerkship in a store. 
Now he will receive say $12 a week, or more, 
depending on the location of the store and the 
liberality of his employer ; also upon whether he is 
in a large city, a good-sized town, or the country. 
But all the time the ambitious worker is looking 
forward to a store of his own. In this connection 
it may be well to give a list of the number of 
druggists in the United States. The following 
table is believed to be approximately correct. The 
number in some of the large cities is given, as well 
as the number in the State. 

.\Lib.ima 265 

Arkansas 365 

California 341 

San Francisco ir7 

Colorado 125 

Connecticut 282 

L'elaware 75 

Florida 90 

Georgia 278 

Illinois iSig 

Chicago 290 

Indiana 1386 

Iowa 1155 

Kansas 665 

Kentucky 566 

Louisiana, 257 

Maine 2S2 

Maryland 152 

Baltimore 206 

Massachusetts 735 

Boston 265 

-Michigan 974 

Minnesota 4T2 

Mississippi 306 

Missouri 1236 

St. Louis 164 

Nebraska 321 

Nevada 41 

New Hampshire i6x 

New Jersey 538 

New York 1550 

New York City 372 

Brooklyn 337 

North Carolina 200 

Ohio 1400 

Cincinnati 142 

Cle\eland 100 

Oregon 103 

Pennsylvania 1320 

Philadelphia 464 

Pittsburg 77 

Rhode Island 112 

South Carolina 163 

Tennessee 389 

Texas 635 

Vermont 173 

Virginia 273 

Washington, D. C 119 

West Virginia 163 

Wisconsin 559 

Territories 205 

Canada 027 

Now, it would not seem probable that a drug 
clerk, without moncv of his own and with no 




prospect of getting any by gift or inheritance, 
could become the owner of a store. And yet, by 
perseverance, ability, and energy, a great many 
do. The amount of capital required to start the 
business, of course, varies. The young apothe- 
cary might start a little store in a small town for 
$500. But it would look very plain indeed. There 
would be very modest fixtures, common shelves, 
no inclosed cases bordering the side walls. One 
authority says that no one ought to start with less 
capital than from $2000 to $5000. Another thinks 
$1000 or $1500 would be sufficient. But no rule 
can be laid down on this point, except that it 
requires more money in large cities, less in smaller 
cities and towns, and still less in villages, where, 

strange to the reader ; it certainly seemed strange 
to me when 1 heard of it. But, after all, though 
the financial backer might lose his money, the 
young man has everything to gain by striving to be 
successful, and loses everything if he acts negli- 
gently or dishonestly. 

Here is a true story, by way of illustration. A 
young drug clerk wrote from the Far West to a 
prominent pharmacist in New York, saying he 
would like to come to the city and enter a store. 
He came, but when the pharmacist questioned him 
personally he found that his visitor had never put 
up prescriptions written in Latin; consequently, he 
could not get a situation. He did not know a soul 
in the great city, not even the gentleman to whom 


by the way, the druggist often combines the func- 
tions of pharmacist and postmaster, or keeps a 
stock of newspapers and periodicals and a mis- 
cellaneous assortment of cheap fancy articles. 

Clerks of real ability, who have not only gained 
the confidence of their employers, but have estab- 
lished a reputation on account of their attainments, 
their energy, and good management, can nearly 
always find some responsible person who will back 
them in starting a store. Sometimes a man will 
loan the necessary amount and take a mortgage on 
the business, but more often the mortgage is on 
the personal responsibility, the ability, and the char- 
acter of the voung man. This may seem a little 

he had written (until he met him at his store). He 
sought in vain for a place, and finally found a sub- 
ordinate position, where he was given five dollars a 
week and had to board himself. He was a studious, 
pushing, active young fellow, and soon managed to 
attend the lectures at the College of Pharmacy. 
The gentleman with whom he had corresponded 
took an interest in him, and invited him to come 
to his store and assist in the manufacturing of fluid 
extracts. Once he showed his employer what he 
could do in that line. The man was surprised. 
" Why can't you do something of that kind for 
me ? " he asked. The clerk said he could, and 
his salary (which, in the meanwhile had been 




slightly increased) was raised to very respectable 
proportions. He worked for a time in this way, 
eventually receiving a salary of $50 a week : final- 
ly he opened a laboratory of his own, and to-day 
he employs forty or fifty "hands." And yet, when 
he arrived in New York he did not have a dollar, 
and was without influence and without friends. 

The successful young druggist must be a good 
salesman. Many of the sales of medicines, espe- 
cially in the city stores, are of the " patent," or pro- 
prietary, kind. Their name is legion. Most drug- 
gists keep a good-sized catalogue containing a list 
of the different varieties. Some of them arc said to 
be good, and many of them are undoubtedly bad. 

Care in compounding prescriptions is of great 
importance. Two druggists may put up the same 
prescription, and the prescriptions will look the 
same to an ordinary observer, but there will be a 
difference in the method of compounding them, 
noticeable at once to the eye of a physician. 
When a doctor finds a pharmacist who under- 
stands his business, he is pretty sure to take pains 
to recommend him to his patients. So the drug- 
gist gets a good reputation, becomes better known, 
and grows more prosperous from year to year. 

As the making up of prescriptions requires great 
care, a prescription clerk should be careful to have 
" all his wits" about him. He should not suffer any 
interruption or engage in conversation while he 
is at his work. In the handling of poisons, it is 
needless to say he should be cxceedingl)- cautious, 
for one mistake in dealing them out might cost 
him his reputation for hfe. It is proper to add, 
however, that the cases of carelessness of drug 
clerks in this particular are yearly becoming more 
rare. In many drug stores all the poisons are kept 
on a shelf by themselves, each bottle being plainly 
marked. In stores where this is done, it is claimed 
that mistakes are less liable to occur than in places 
where the bottles are put on shelves in different 
parts of the establishment. 

The young druggist w ill be just to his subordi- 
nates. Knowing that their work is hard, he will 
allow them to take respites when business is dull. 
He will " keep up " in his knowledge of pharmacy, 
by reading one or more of the journals devoted to 
the interests of druggists, and, having secured a 
good location, he will endeavor to keep it all his 
life, unless, for some very good reason, he believes 
a change would be greatly to his advantage. 

By One of Them. 

A DOZEN little dolls are we as happy as the day, 
Black and white, short and tall, grave and grand and gay, 
A dozen dolls all waiting here. Who will come and play ? 
Come and take us, little maidens, ere we run away. 




By C. C. Ward.' 

Pictures in a tea-cup? Well, the idea is not 
altogether a new one, and many of my little friends 
have, no doubt, tried the old-fashioned plan of 
making pictures, or, as 1 think it is called, "telling 

fortunes," in a 
tea-cup. In 
fact, 1 have a 
friend who is 

mailing it seemed to me to be very vague ; but 
the gist of it all was, that in a short time a young 
gentleman of extremely prepossessing appearance 
would arrive, and that he was, in some unexplained 
way, to exert a powerful influence on the future 
prospects of the young lady. Wishing to discover 
what there was in the cup to warrant such a fore- 
cast, 1 obtained possession of it without being ob- 
served. In the bottom of the cup I 
saw that the tea-leaves had assumed 
a form which, with a little aid of the 

quite renowned for her success as a fortune-teller 
through her skill in shaking and tapping a tea-cup 
until the grounds, or tea-leaves, in the bottom of 
the tea-cup assume, in a rude way, certain shapes 
or forms representing peo- 
ple, animals, and various 
other images which she 
professes to understand as 
referring in some way to the 
person whose fortune she 
happens to be telling at the 
I was present once 
he told, in this way, 
the fortune 
of a young 
^ lady. The 
and the 
method of 


might be ac- 
cepted as re- 
sembling a very 

spare, delicate, and altogether di- 
lapidated young man. With the 
aid of a tea-spoon, and using a 
few other grounds or leaves that 
were lying on the bottom of the 
cup, I quickly changed the young 
man into a most disreputable-look- 
ing old tramp, with a big bundle 
on his back, and 
by a ferocious-looking 
Then I awaited the resuli 
ently, the young lady whose fortune hatl been fore- 
told, took up the cup, with a blush of pleasure, to 
examine its contents. The moment she saw the 
dreadful figure of the old tramp, she exclaimed, 

a big bundle S ^ 

;ing bull-dog. ^L&S^^ a 
result. Pres- '-—-^'^'^^^ 




"What a horrid old fright ! " Then there was a great 
commotion, which was only quelled when 1 acknowl- 
edged my guilt. But I had learned something, 
which was that, with a little management, pictures 
of many kinds could be 
made in a tea-cup. 

And now 1 will ex- 
plain how the pictures 

are made. First drink or slowly pour out all 
the tea, which, by the way, should not have 
been too carefully strained, and then shake 
the cup and observe what forms the tea-leaves and 
sediment at the bottom have taken. In each case 
something will be suggested, either a figure, ani- 
mal, bird, or groups suggesting all of these ; but it 
will only be a suggestion for the imagina- 
tion, not a perfect form. In order to make 
it more perfect, take a tea-spoon, and by 
adding more of the sediment and particles 
of leaves to some parts, and taking away 
from others, you will soon get the figure, 
or whatever is suggested, into proper shape, 
or "drawing" as artists say. 

Now make a careful drawing on paper 
of what you have formed, preserving as 
nearly as possible the picture as it appears 
in the cup. Any one 
who has not tried to 
make pictures in this way will 
be surprised to find how easy 

practice for any one, not only 
in the way of drawing, but 
also in cultivating the imagi- 
nation. For instance, I give 
the cup a shake, and what 
do I see ? Old Mother Hub- 
bard and her dog, perhaps, 
or a hurdy-gurdy man 
tramping along with the 

hurdy-gurdy on his back ; if he has a trained monk- 
ey with him, it will be or ought to be on the top of 
the hurdy-gurdy ; if he has no monk- 
ey, a slight, dexterous handling of 
the tea-spoon, and a few bits of tea- 
aves, will soon form the little animal. 

Another shake, 
and 1 see a small' 
girl feeding 
the chickens. 
Again, and I 
will see the sug- 
gestion of a his- 
torical charac- 
9^ ter; perhaps 
some character 
in a book — Rip Van Winkle, Barnaby Rudge, or 
The Marchioness. Then, again, it may be a dog, 
or a man on horseback. I may not be quite sure 
of the latter, but the spoon soon converts him into 

a Cossack soldier. 
Another time it is 
three black objects, the spoon comes into play 
again, and then they arc unmistakably bear cubs 
having a frolic. 

The pictures can be made all black, like a sil- 
houette, or they can be white in parts, by remov- 

it is to form and draw them after a Uttle practice, ing all of the sediment, and leaving the white of 
There is no limit to the number and variety of the cup for faces, hands, or other parts of the 
pictures that can be made, and it is really good picture. 


AMONG THE L A W - M A K E R S . [November, 

(RecoUcctioiis of a Page ut t/ie U?titcii States Senate.) 

Chapter I. 


" The Senate will come to order ! " That is ex- 
actly what he said, and when he said it the 
wheels of legislation began once inore to revolve. 
Probably you do not know what I am talking 
about. Well, 1 will tell you. 

When 1 was about thirteen j ears of age I was 
appointed page to the Senate of the United States. 
And before I proceed any further, — as this story 
is a narrative of actual facts that I trust will fur- 
nish sonic instruction as well as amusement to my 
young, — it would be well to make sure 
that they understand nie, at tlie outset, on a ques- 
tion of law. 

I presume, howe\er, that many of the boys and 
girls who read Sr. NICHOLAS know what a gov- 
ernment is, what it is for, and in what important 
respect the government of the United States differs 
from those of other countries of the world. 

Of course, governments are necessary for the 
protection of society, and the object of every 
government is, or ought to be, to give to every 
man, woman, and child, security as to life, lib- 
erty, and property. To afford this security, laws 
are made. But then laws are of no use unless 
there are some means to compel obedience to 
them. For example, there are laws in nearly 
every country against killing, stealing, and other 
wrongs to life and property; and to deter people 
from committing any of these wrongs, the laws 
provide for the imposition of penalties --from the 
severe penalty of death to that of imprisonment, 
or the payment of a fine, according to the gravity 

of the offense. The system, or institution, which 
makes and enforces these laus constitutes a gov- 
ernment. Every government, therefore, should 
possess three powers — first, the power to make 
laws ; second, the power to execute them ; and 
third, the power to administer justice, by the re- 
dress of grievances and the punishment of offend- 
ers, in accordance with the laws. These three 
powers are known respectively as the legislative, the 
executive, and the judicial powers of a government. 

In some nations these powers reside in a single 
person, and such a governinent is called an abso- 
lute monarchy, or an autocracy. There is a gov- 
ernment of this kind to-day in Russia. There, the 
sovereign or monarch can do as he pleases, having 
unlimited authority and control over the lives and 
property of his subjects. The great distinction be- 
tween our government and that autocracy is this — 
that licrc the people rule. Every citizen of this vast 
republic is a sovereign, and has a voice in saying 
what laws shall be made, and who shall execute 
them. As most of the people, however, can not 
neglect their ordinary business affairs, they exercise 
their right of government through certain persons 
whom they elect to act for them. Every official 
in our government, from the highest to the lowest, 
derives his power from the people. 

The manner in which the powers of govern- 
ment are distributed in the United States is de- 
clared in the great fundamental law of this country, 
called the Constitution, which perhaps some of you 
know by heart. This constitution was ratified, or 
agreed to, by the people of our republic nearly one 
hundred years ago, and it begins in these words: 

" We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more 
perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquillity, pro. 


A M O N U T H E L A W - M A K E R S . 


vide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and 
secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, li'i 
ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States oi 

Since the Constitution was cstablislicd by our 
forefatl'iers, the rcpubUc has extended its power and 
dominion from the Atlantic to tlie Pacific Ocean, 
and it consists now of thirty-eight States, ten or- 
ganized territories, the District of Columbia, and 
Alaska, containing in all 3,604,000 square miles, 
and fifty millions of people. But to-day, as then, 

partment is that which makes the laws for the 
country, and is called Congress; and Congress is 
composed of two bodies of men, one being known 
as The Senate and the other as The House of Rep- 
resentatives. Each State of the Union sends two 
men (called Senators) to the Senate and a cer- 
tain number of men (called Representatives) to 
the House of Representatives. The number of 
Representatives sent by each State depends upon 
the population of the State. And every Territory 
sends to the House one man, called a Delegate, 



the Constitution is the supreme law of the land, 
sacred to every American ; and as you grow older and 
become more familiar with the history of human- 
ity and civilization, you will learn to reverence and 
to love it, and be willing, as many have been in the 
past, to lose your lives, if necessary, in its defense. 

You ought, therefore, to read every word of the 
Constitution, and to study it carefully, before you 
grow to be men and citizens of our republic. 
By the Constitution the government of the 
Union (styled the "general" or "federal" 
government, to distinguish it from the local 
governments of the States forming the Union) 
is divided into three separate and distinct 
branches — the legislative, the executive, and 
the judicial departments. The legislative dc- 

who may talk as much as he pleases, but is not 
allowed to vote in making laws. The District of 
Columbia, which is neither a State nor a Territory, 
has, like Alaska, no one to represent or to speak a 
kind word for it in Congress, although more people 
reside in the District than in some of the States and 
Territories that are represented. Of course, this 
is hardly right ; but there are many imperfect 
features in our system of government that will, 
I have no doubt, be improved when the boys of 
the United States become old enough to take a 
hand in public affairs. 

The manner in which the members of the 
House and Senate are chosen by the people, I 
will explain hereafter ; but that you may realize 
what a great institution Congress, or the legisla- 




live department of the government, is, I will state 
that, at the time I was appointed page, there 
were seventy-four senators, and about three hvm- 
dred members of the House of Representatives. 

The executive department of the government 
consists of a great many officers, headed by the 
President of the United States, who is also chosen 
by the people, and is sometimes styled the Chief 
Magistrate of the country ; and it is his duty, and 
the duty of his subordinate officers, to see that the 
laws which are made by Congress are executed — 
that is, carried into effect. 

The judicial department of the government is 
vested in a great many courts, the principal one 
being the Supreme Court of the United States ; 
and it is their duty to " administer " the laws. 
When appealed to, they should decide upon con- 
troversies involving the legal rights of parties, and 
dispense the relief or inflict the punishment pre- 
scribed by law. In adjusting differences, they are 
empowered to expound, or explain, the meaning 
of dubious legislation. For frequently Congress so 
mixes up the language of a law or statute, that it 
costs much time and money before the courts 
ascertain what Congress really intended when it 
enacted the law. 

I have made this perhaps tedious explanation that 
you may know clearly what Congress is — that it is 
the department of the federal government which 
makes the laws. The members of Congress are, 
therefore, law-makers, and are called Congressmen ; 
every senator is a Congressman, and so is every 
member of the House of Representatives. Before 
I conclude I shall endeavor to present to you a 
general idea of the proceedings of Congress in 
making laws, and of certain special prerogatives 
belonging to each "House " in addition to this law- 
making power. But you understand now what a 
law-maker is. 

Well, the congressmen meet together or '•'as- 
semble " in the city of Washington at noon, on 
the first Monday of each December, and they hold 
their meetings, or sessions, in the huge white build- 
ing known as the Capitol, of which you have all seen 
pictures in your geographies. They talk and 
talk and legislate (which simply means to make 
laws for the people) for about three months in 
one year and about seven months the next year, 
and so on alternately, thus having more holidays 
than the boys and girls who go to school. 

The senators meet in a large room in the north- 
ern wing of the Capitol, and the members of the 
House of Representatives meet in a still larger 
room in the opposite wing ; and in going from one 
room to the other, you have to pass through the 
great rotunda of the building. This rotunda may 
be considered neutral space, separating the two 

legislative halls, like the dividing line between two 
empires ; and for one of the bodies to infringe 
upon the privilege of the other to control its par- 
ticular wing of the Capitol-building would be as 
much an evidence of hostility as for the army of 
one nation to invade the domain of another. 

While each House of Congress is independent 
of the other, so far as the conduct of its own pro- 
ceedings and the management of its own affairs 
are concerned, yet the Senate is usually looked 
upon and spoken of by the people as the " Upper 
House." It has been called "the grandest delibera- 
tive body the world has ever seen," and the senators 
are supposed to be like the senators of Venice, 
whom Othello addressed as "most potent, grave, 
and reverend Seigneurs." There is an iceberg 
dignity about the Senate that fills a spectator with 
awe, and that would almost freeze a smile before 
it could break into a laugh. 

The senators are very courteous in their remarks, 
and you can almost hear a pin drop, at times, 
when a senator is speaking; whereas, there is so 
much confusion in the House that one might 
almost say that a thunderbolt falling through the 
roof would hardly cause an interruption in the 
proceedings. Of course, one of the reasons for the 
greater noise in the House is the much larger 
number of members as compared with the number 
of senators ; and besides that, the senators, being 
generally older men, have more natural gravity of 

Now, the time of these senators is presumed to 
be very valuable ; and as their thoughts ought not 
to be disturbed when they are engaged in making 
laws, only a certain number of persons are allowed 
to go upon the floor of the Senate when the sena- 
tors are at work ; and the other people, who wish 
to hear them talk or to look at them, must sit in 
the vast galleries which extend entirely around 
the room. The entrances leading into the room, 
which is called the senate chamber, are guarded 
by door-keepers, and only the certain select per- 
sons I have spoken of are permitted to pass. The 
senators naturally recjuire a great many errands 
and services to be done for them ; and, on this 
account, there are appointed fourteen boys, 
from twelve to sixteen years of age, who are 
termed "pages" — seven for the Democratic 
side, and seven for the Republican side. A 
Democrat is a man who thinks the country 
ought to be governed in a particular way, and a 
Republican is one who thinks the Democrats are 
always wrong, and therefore believes in govern- 
ing the country in some other manner than the 
Democrats wish. That, in short, is what the dis- 
tinction amounts to. The Democrats are called a 
'' party," and they always talk and vote the same 




way on any question of a political character — 
that is, any question which affects their power 
as a party or any of the principles of govern- 
ment in which they believe. The Republicans are 
also a party, and they talk and vote on these 
political questions just the opposite way from that 
in which the Democrats talk and vote. For this 
reason, the Democrats and Republicans in Con- 
gress are almost constantly quarreling when they 
are in session, although when they are not in ses- 
sion they associate and talk and joke with one 
another as if they all belonged to the same party. 

The senators sit at nice little rosewood desks, 
arranged in a semicircle and facing a pile of steps 
and tables where the clerks sit, and where, higher 
still, away up on top, sits the Vice-President of 
the United States (or whoever may act in his 
stead when he is absent), who is termed the 
"presiding officer" or "President" of the Sen- 
ate, and it is his duty to keep the senators in 

pointed, seven of the pages were to wait upon one 
half of the senators, while the other seven were 
to serve the other half. They were expected to 
sit on the lower steps around the big pile occu- 
pied by the Vice-President and clerks. Whenever 
a senator wanted an errand done he would clap 
his hands or beckon with his finger, and it was 
the duty of one of the pages on that side of the 
chamber to go to him and find out what he 
wished. After having performed the errand or 
attended to the wants of the senator, the page 
would return to his seat and wait until some other 
senator called. As a matter of fact, though, the 
pages would generally be flying about in all 
directions regardless of these rules — boys from 
the Democratic side would be running messages 
for the Republican side, and, as is said in Latin, 
vice versa. Sometimes the senators could not 
think of anything to send the pages for, and 
we would have an easy time ; and, instead of 


order, just like a big school-master, and not let 
more than one of them talk at once. The senators 
on the right of the Vice-President (that is, toward 
the south-west) are mostly Democrats ; those on 
the other side (toward the south-east) are princi- 
pally Republicans ; and when 1 was there they Irad 
one or two independents, — men who talk and 
vote sometimes with the Democrats and some- 
times with the Republicans, just as they wish, — 
and they sat wherever they could get good seats. 
As I say, speaking of the time when I was ap- 

sitting, as we ought, up in an erect and digni- 
fied position, we would kneel down upon the soft 
carpet and play marljles. I have often gone up 
on the Republican side to where the Vice-Presi- 
dent sat, as on a throne, and played marbles with 
a page on the Democratic side, almost under the 
\'ice-President's chair. It would make some of 
the senators angry to see us do this, especially 
Senator Anthony, who of late \'ears has been called 
the "Father of the Senate" — because he served 
continuously for more years than any other senator, 




his time of service dating back to 1859.* But most 
of the senators bcheved in letting us do whatever 
we pleased, so long as we kept still, while the young 
ladies in the gallery usually paid more attention 
to \\hat we did than to what the law-makers w ere 
doing. 1 think it was this that used to annoy Sen- 
ator Anthony. Hut 1 am running ahead of my 

early as nine o'clock, and in about two hours the 
galleries were crowded and would hold no more. 
The ladies sat in the part of the gallery reserved 
for them on the Republican side of the room, and 
looked charming in their beautiful hats and gar- 
ments of every color. Over on the opposite, or 
Democratic, side sat the men who were unaccom- 


Story. I wished you to understand who a page is, 
and what his duties are. 

Of course, it was quite an honor to Ije appointed 
a page to such a distinguished body as the Senate 
of the United States, and as I was accredited to 
the State of New York, I considered that 1, as 
well as tlie two senators from that State, had 
the honor of the State to protect. I had heard so 
much about the awful solemnity and power of 
the Senate, that I was at first afraid to touch any 
of these great law-makers, for fear 1 should be 
paralyzed or sent to jail. 

The first day 1 went to the Senate was the second 
of December, 1S72. People who wished to see 
the great body called to order began to arrive as 

panied by ladies. Then, directly over the\'ice-Pres- 
ident's chair, were the reporters for the newspapers 
— those industrious men who apparently never 
sleep, but who seem to be everywhere at once, and 
are always on hand whenever there is a fight or 
anything else of interest going on, ready to find out 
all about it (and more, too) and to telegraph it off. 
thousands of miles, to be printed in some great 
paper, the editor of which then preaches a sort of 
sermon about it, called an " editorial." Thus the 
people of the country are kept informed of what 
is happening throughout the world, and if it were 
not for these reporters, a great many of our 
public men never would be heard of outside the 
towns in which they li\ e. But, as I was about to 

* Since the writing of these pages this illustrious statesman has passed away. The esteem entertained for him by the people, and 
ma;iifested at the funeral, was well deser\'ed. 

i884.) AMONG THE I, A \V - M A K K K S . 6 1 

say, the reporters' gallery was filled with corre- 
spondents representing all classes of journals, from 
the powerful, thundering "organs" of New York, 
to the weekly publication of some little hamlet in 
the West. 

At a few minutes before twelve o'clock. Cap- 
tain Bassett, the venerable gentleman who has 
charge of the comfort of the senators, told me to 
go to the Vice-President's desk and put the gavel 
upon a certain spot on the table. The gavel is a 
small mallet of ivory with which the presiding offi- 
cer of the Senate thumps upon his desk to com- 
mand silence or attention, precisely as a school- 
teacher taps his bell or raps with the ruler against 
his table. In the House of Representatives, where 
the members do not behave as well as in the 
Senate, they have a wooden gavel with a long 
handle to it, like a hammer, that will make more 
noise, and sometimes it reminded me of a black- 
smith at his anvil to see the presiding officer of 
the House (who is called The Speaker) pounding 
away for dear life, trying to make the Representa- 
tives be quiet. In fact, the Speaker's gavel is 
known in the official parlance of that body as the 
" hammer." 

I placed the gavel near the edge of the desk, — 
in order that it could be reached conveniently by 
the Vice-President without destroying the impres- 
siveness desired, — and hardly had I done so when, 
exactly at twelve o'clock, in walked two men 
through the door near me. They were Schuyler 
Colfa.x, the Vice-President of the United States, 
and Dr. Newman, the chaplain of the Senate. 
The Vice-President advanced to the side of his 
desk, took up the gavel, and gave one loud rap. 
At once the buzzing in the galleries and on the floor 
ceased ; and, in perfect silence. Dr. Newman as- 
cended the steps to the Vice-President's chair, and 
standing up, as he would in a pulpit, delivered a 
short prayer. 1 do not remember all that he said, 
but he offered thanks to God for his blessings 
upon the nation since the adjournment of Con- 
gress during the preceding summer, and prayed 
that the senators might be blessed with wisdom 
and goodness, and guided of Heaven in their delib- 
erations throughout the session then begun. 

The prayer was hardly finished when nearly all 
the senators began to clap their hands in every 
part of the chamber, making quite a racket. They 
had a habit of doing that immediately after the 
opening exercises, and, on one occasion, caused an 
old man in the gallery to exclaim, " Wall, I 'II be 
hanged ef I saw anything pertikerlerly fine about 
that prayer ! " But they were not applauding the 
prayer — they were merely calling for pages ! 

When the clapping commenced, the other pages 
started to run zigzag and in every direction, and at 

first I became confused and did not know what to 
do. At last 1 saw one senator look at me and clap, 
and 1 walked toward him, but another page ran 
ahead of me. 1 was about the only new page, and 
more timid and modest than the other boys. They 
wished to " show off," and they ran as fast as they 
could every time ; and as 1 was a little fellow, 
with short legs, of course they distanced me. 1 
think 1 tried about a dozen times to answer calls, 
but was beaten by the other pages. The fact 
was, I was not only more modest, but more delib- 
erate and deferential in my movements. 

1 think several of the senators must have ob- 
served my einbarrassment, for after a while Sen- 
ator Conkling beckoned me with the forefinger of 
his right hand, — that was the way he always called 
a page, — and I began to walk at a quick but re- 
spectful gait. The other pages, however, were all 
anxious to get the message, for it would cause 
people in the galleries to look at them, as Senator 
Conkling was one of the most conspicuous men in 
the Senate, and people watched everything he 
did. He was then standing behind his desk 
holding a letter, and a number of pages rushed and 
put up their hands and grabbed at the letter, and 
almost fought for it. The Senator made a gesture 
for them to go away, and when I came up he 
reached over their heads and gave the letter to me, 
with instructions as to what I should do with it. 
I felt that the people in the galleries saw it all, — 
and so they did, and every one on the floor saw it 
also, — and I was scarcely able to walk straight, 
so flurried was I, knowing that so many eyes were 
upon me. The other boys not only felt flurried, 
but looked sheepish, and did not understand the 
Senator's conduct. Neither did I, for that matter, 
but I thought and still think it was purely out of 
sympathy for me. 

As Dr. Newman came down from the \'ice- 
President's table, Vice-President Colfax mounted 
the steps and, in a very solemn manner, said : 
"The Senate will come to order I " and took 
his seat in the chair. 

Then the secretary of the Senate called the roll 
of senators to see how many were present, after 
which Senator Conkling arose and offered a reso- 
lution, the object of which was to have the Vice- 
President appoint two senators to act as a com- 
mittee to join a similar committee of the House 
of Representatives, and to call upon the President 
of the United States and notify him that Congress 
was in session, and ready to hear anything he 
might have to say. 

Senator Anthony then submitted .1 resolution 
that the secretary of the Senate inform the House of 
Representatives that a quorum of the Senate had 
assembled (that is. a sufficient number of senators 




to transact business, which must be a majority of 
the entire Senate), and that it was ready to proceed 
to business; and also another resohition, "That 
the hour of daily meeting of the Senate be twelve 
o'clock, noon, until otherwise ordered." Both 
these resolutions offered by Senator Anthony were 
adopted by the Senate, and, after brief proceed- 
ings about other matters, 
the resolution presented 
by Senator Conkling was 
also agreed to, and Sen- 
ator Conkling and Sen- 
ator Thurman were ap- 
pointed as a committee. 
Senator Conkling being 
the chairman, or head of 
the committee. At this 
point, as the Senate had 
nothing else to do, a 
recess was taken for one 
hour. Instantly the peo- 
ple in the gallery began 
to buzz again, and the 
senators to talk among 
themselves and tell jokes 
and laugh, and a certain 
senator, who sat far over 
on the Democratic side, 
even amused himself by 
writing letters and soar- ^ 
ing them away up into the 
air, and even against the 
ceiling of the room, and 
watching the pages at- 
tempt to catch them as 
they sailed down toward 
the floor. I think he could 
sail a letter better than 
any other senator. Of 
course, this was no great 

achievement to boast about, but some of the 
senators sat through a whole session so quietly 
that they seemed never to do anything except 
to go to the Senate every day and sit still and 
vote. And I remember once a senator came 
into the chamber just as his name was reached by 
the clerk who was calling the roll on a vote. He 
looked around, and did not know what was going 
on or what he should do, and 1 pitied him and 
called out from behind him, " Vote ' No ! ' " And 
he did ! Of course he thought it was some respon- 
sible senator speaking to him. But I had been in 
the Senate several days before I had enough cour- 
age to pretend to advise a senator. 

Upon the Vice-President's calling the Senate to 
order after the recess, the clerk of the House of 
Representatives was announced, and he stated that 

the House had assembled and was ready to pro- 
ceed to business. These notifications from each 
Congressional body to the other, and from both 
to the President, are acts of courtesy that are 
always observed at the beginning and close of 
every session of Congress. 

After the lapse of a few minutes Senators Conk- 


ling and Thurman returned from the White House, 
whither they had gone to see the President, and 
said that the committee appointed by the Senate 
liad discharged its duty, and that the President had 
stated that he would communicate with the Senate 
at once in writing. In olden times, during the 
early days of our government, it was usual for 
the President to come to the Senate chamber in 
person, and, in the presence of the senators and 
members of the House, deliver whatever address 
he might desire to make. But this custom was 
abandoned when President Jefferson went into 
office, and communications from the President 
are now always put in writing and delivered by a 

After the report of the committee, there was a 
pause in the proceedings, during which the people 


A M O i\ G T H E L A W -MAKERS. 


resumed their conversations and wliisperings. 
Very soon a gentleman entered the room through 
the door directly facing the Vice-President, carry- 
ing under his arm a package in a large white envel- 
ope fastened with a large red seal. As he entered 
every one became quiet again. Captain Bassett 
walked up the aisle in front of the Vice-President, 
and, when he reached the door, shook hands 
with the other gentleman, who proved to be Mr. 
Babcock, the private secretary to President Grant ; 
and then this is what was said : 

Captain Bassett: " A message from the Presi- 
dent of the United States." 

Mr. Babcock (bowing): "Mr. President." 

T/ic Vice-President (how'ing) : "Mr. Secretary." 

Air. Babcock: "I am directed by the President 
of the United States to deliver to the Senate a 
message in writing." 

Thereupon, the President's secretary and the 
Vice-President exchanged bows again, and Mr. 
Babcock, giving the package to Captain Bassett, 
left the Senate and went to the House of Repre- 
sentatives to go through the same ceremony there. 

Captain Bassett took the envelope to the Vice- 
President, who opened it, and said that he would 
lay before the Senate a message from the Presi- 

( To be a 

dent of the United States. Then the secretary 
of the Senate began to read the message which 
the President had sent. It was a lengthy address, 
and the reading of it occupied an hour. It told 
how the country had prospered since the last session 
of Congress, and what laws ought to be enacted in 
order to make it more prosperous in the future. 
When it had been read through, Senator Anthony 
moved that it be laid upon the table and be 
printed, which was agreed to. To "lay upon 
the taljle " is what is known as a " parliamentary 
expression," and signifies that the Senate is not 
ready to consider or take action upon the mes- 
sage, bill, or whatever it may be, just then. 

By this time we all were tired out, after keeping 
still and listening to the reading for so long, and 
shortly after Senator Edmunds arose and said : 

" 1 move that the Senate do now adjourn." 
Then everybody else began to move, and there 
was such a hubbub that all 1 could hear distinctly 
was the \'ice-President saying : 

" The motion is carried, and the Senate stands 
adjourned until to-morrow at twelve o'clock." 

Then he gave another loud rap with his gavel, 
and the proceedings of the Senate for the first day 
of the session came to an end. 

§/ve : f w fH^^ E. : 




" You were only in fun. 1 am sure, when you 
spoke ; 

It would n't be safe, for you can't swim a stroke. 
If you feel you must sail, why not try the 
canal ? " 

And he said, in a weak little whisper, " I shall ! ' 

So he put, with much practice, a roll in his walk. 
And introduced nautical terms in his talk; 
While the neat little suit that she made him 
to wear 

Had anchors, to give him a sailor-like air. 

1 '11 hold, on the tow-path, one end in my hand, 
And, if you should sink, I will pull you to land. 
1 think it's much safer," she uttered; "don't 
you ? " 

And he said, in his weak little whisper, ''I do ! " 

Then he hoisted his sail with a feeling of pride, 
And gayly sped off, while she kept at his side ; 
So you 'd better look out, for who knows but, 
some day. 

These queer little folk will be coming your 
way ? 




By Charles G. Lkland. 

There are few places where strips of iron or 
other metal are not used to hoop barrels or bind 
boxes ; and strips of brass or zinc, for the same 
purpose, are to be had of any dealer in sheet- 
metal. These seem at first sight to be little 
adapted to decorative art purposes ; yet, precisely 
the same material was largely employed, and with 
very good effect, in the days of old — the times of 
gold — to ornament not only doors, but all kinds 
of furniture. 

If we take a common oaken box, and place upon 
it strips and pieces of iron or brass hoop, cut to 
proper lengths, we have, of course, an iron or 
brass-banded chest. The strips must be fastened 
with large-headed iron nails, such as were used at 


one time freely by trunk-makers, and which may 
still be found. But any smith will make them to 
order, with either round or square heads. 

The ends of the hoops may be easily filed- 
into shapes which will add greatly to the orna- 
mental effect of the work. Thus, false hinges, 
in the shape of a cross, look very well with 
either rounded or pointed tips. A little study 
of the examples here given will readily sug- 
gest other forms to a person with any inge- 
nuity. The file to be used for shaping these 
ends should be a very large one, and it 
will be advisable to have the iron screwed ui 
a vise. There are several shapes which may 
be given to these ends, such, for instance, as the 
semicircle, the ball, the point, the heart-point, 

Vol. Xll.— 

and the notch. By repeating them in connection, 
very good effects may be obtained. 

There are, of course, many other ends or points 
which will 
occur to 
the artist ; 
but of all, 
the semi- 
circle, the 
point, and 
the heart- 
point, or 
the ogive, 
will prove 
to be the 
easiest to 
make. The 
best effects 
will be 
seen when 
the end of 
a strip is 
made into 
a cross 

with another. By tasteful arrangement the sim- 
plest box or chest may be given a handsome 
appearance. .A few years 
ago it was 
law, none the 
less impera- 
tive because 
that noth- 
ing was 




worthy of very much admiration unless it was 
expensive and highly finished. The upholsterer 




judged for everybody, and his taste served for 
the world. Consequently, the upholsterer, in 
his own interests, invariably declared that noth- 
ing cheap could be beautiful. Now that people 
are beginning to study decoration for themselves, 
and to have opinions of their own as to how their 
houses should be decorated, and are finding out 
how, in other countries, people 
have contrived to make 


home beautiful without much money, tlie more 
ignorant upholsterer is losing his influence. He 
is no longer an oracle of taste. On the contrary, 
he stands directly in opposition to true knowledge 
and honest art, which proposes to teach people 
that they may still have beautifully decorated 
rooms though they inay be altogether too 
poor to buy of the upholsterer. 

It was long since discovered that a hinge 
was not only useful as a means of holding a 
lid and enabling it to be lifted up and down, 
but that it strengthened it, prevented it from 
cracking, and might be so expanded as to 
materially aid in preventing a chest or coffer 
from being broken into. But as this latter 
purpose could be effected by a false hinge, 
false hinges came to be extensively made. 
The illustrations on page 65 show how 
they can be constructed from pieces of hoop- 
iron and similar strips of other metals. 

These hinges need not be confined to chests 
or boxes. It is common enough to see in country 
cottages doors of plain plank or boards, made with- 
out panels ; and it is needless to say that, though 
the easiest to make and the cheapest and strongest 
of all doors, they are invariably considered ugly. 
Yet one of these portals can be so hinged and 
barred with hoop-iron, and so studded with nails as 

to look far better than the average machinery- 
made, saw-mill-paneled affair, which any boy of ten 
years could kick to pieces in ten minutes with a 
pair of stout bcots. 

Not less effective are bands of brass. These are 
made of every width, from half an inch to four or 
six inches, and sheets of brass may be had from 
six inches in width to any breadth whatever. Brass 
hoop has the great advantage that, when made up 
artistically, it may be carried out with the aid of 
nails with " fancy " heads of many beautiful forms, 
such as fleurs-de-lis, rosettes in great variety, 
eagles, horses' heads, and flowers. One has but 
to send to any dealer in hardware to obtain a cata- 
logue containing representations of these nails. 
Many of them are used by harness-mal«ers and 
upholsterers. Some are silver-plated or made of 
German silver. 

It may be observed that, apart from the iron or 
brass bands, these nails may of themselves be 
extensively used in decorating chests, etc. It is 
well known in repousse or sheet-brass work that 
a very important point consists of introducing at 
regular intervals bosses, or round studs, of such a 
nature that they shall attract the eye by reflecting 
light. Thus, in the days when every room had 
its salvers and plates of hammered brass, favorite 
subjects were oranges, grapes, and other round 
fruits, whose hemispherical and rounded surface 
gave a brilliant reflect of light. Accordingly, a very 
favorite subject for a brass platter was the spies 
returning from Canaan, bearing between them an 
immense bunch of grapes. During three hundred 
years there were as many salvers made with this 
subject as all others combined. In fact, the em- 


ployment of the boss, or knob, or circle, in art 
is as old as art itself ; it was common among the 
earliest races, and an article which I have read de- 
clares that the white dots in a blue ground which 
form the undying "polka-dot pattern" in cravats 
is a survi\al of the heads of the rivets in ancient 
armor. It is as curious as instructive to observe 




how, for instance in Romanesque dress, very good 
effects were produced by simple circlets, sur- 
rounded at times by dots. These are seen, too, not 
only on old Anglo-Saxon and Gaulish dresses, but 
on all objects where it ^ was desirable to pro- 

duce the most orna- 
easiest manner 
at the brass fur- 
variety and of 
from one or tw o 
eter down to 

mental effect in the 
Nails can be had 
nishcr's in great 
every pattern, 
inches in diam- 
the tiniest 
If the artist 

ence, as 
great dif 
with large 
made, he must 
self a pattern 
and have re- 
ingenious black- 
forge them for 

ficulty in 
iron nails 
heads, ready 
make for him- 
in wax or wood 
course to some 
smith who can 
him by liand, — that is, if he 
wants real nails that will hold. The — - 
ornamental brass nails, of ■which 

have spoken, have gen- 

erally only a thin ^ - 

wire shank, and ~ — £::_r. 

DESIGN formed entirely of 
bra^s-headed nails or 
tacks of different sizes. 
Suitable for a hanging- 
box ot for a chair-back 


are only meant to be looked at, not subjected to 
any severe test. They can be plated to order 
with nickel, and then match well with polished 
brass or iron. 

Iron and brass hoop can be applied to doors, to 
boxes, panels, chests, and many plane or fiat sur- 
faces in furniture, with admirable effect. Narrow 
brass or German silver strips are very well 
suited to the covers of books, albums, and port- 
folios. It is quite certain that, in the whole range 
of the minor, or decorative, arts, there is not one 
in which so much elegance and utility can be 
combined with so little e.xpense, as in ornamenting, 
let us say for example, a plain oak chesf' with 
iron or brass bands and large-headed nails. 

Common, small brass nails, such as were much 
used for trunks fifty years ago, are still popular 
among our Western Indians, who ornament whip- 
handles with them. These and larger round 
heads may be set together so as to form bunches 
of grapes. With the aid of carving and sheet- 
brass leaves, very striking effects may be obtained. 
It is easy to make the holes in hoop-metal, 
throut;h which the nails are driven. An excellent 
drill for the purpose is sold for fifty cents by most 
dealers in tools, or will be obtained by them to 
order. .AH dealers in brass or sheet-metals supply 
hoop of any width. 

There are few boys, who are clever or ingenious 
enough to do any work at all, who can not orna- 
ment boxes in the manner here described, with 
hoop-metal and large nails. It may be observed 
that, when the work is thoroughly well done, the 
hoop should be sunk in the wood, either by ham- 
inering it well in, or by cutting grooves with a chisel. 

As a distinct art or 
branch of work, the 
application of hoop- 
metal and nails to cas- 
kets, etc., was first 
practiced in the Public 
Industrial Art School 
of Phil.idelphia. 





In pursuance of the announcement made last month, St. Nicholas now in\-ites all girls not younger than 
thirteen, nor older than seventeen years of age, to compete for the following prizes, amounting in all to One 
Hundred Dollars : 


For the best story for girls, under the conditions named below A prize of Forty Dollars. 

For the story ranking second in merit, under the conditions named below. .A prize of Twenty Dollars. 
For the story ranking third " " " " " " " . .A prize of Fifteen Dollars. 

For the story ranking fourth " " " " . .A prize of Ten Dollars. 

For the stories ranking fifth, sixth, and seventh " " " . .A prize of Five Dollars, each. 


No story written by any one younger than thirteen or older than seventeen can enter into the competition. 
The story must be not less than 2000 nor more than 30CO words in length. 

At the head of each MS., just above its title, must be written the words " Story for Prize Competition." 

Initials only, must be signed to the MS. But the name and address of the writer, together with the title of 
the story, and postage and directions for the return of the M.S. (in case it does not win a prize), must be sent in a 
sealed envelope with the MS. 

Injustice to all competitors, the sealed envelope must also contain a certificate signed by parent, teacher, or 
some adult friend, that the story is the original composition of the sender, and that her age is within the prescribed 

Let the sealed envelopes contain only the inclosures here requested. Letters concerning the stories can not 
be answered. 

The sealed envelopes will not be opened until all the manuscripts have been read, and the prize stories selected. 
No MS. will be returned that is unaccompanied by the requisite amount of postage-stamps inclosed in the 
sealed envelope. 

Translations will not be considered. The stories must not be Burlesque, Fairy, Sensational, exclusively 
Religious, nor Love Stories : but in literary quality and moral influence they must be unobjectionable. The 
purpose of the competition is to obtain a good, wholesome, and interesting story for girls written by a girl. 

Stories may be sent in until December 15, 1S84. No story received after that date can enter into the 

The best story — and possibly one or more of the other prize stories — will be printed in St. Nicholas. 

If the Awarding Committee agree unanimously that no one of the stories sent in is, even by a generous con- 
struction, worthy to receive the first prize ($40), that prize will not be awarded. But in that case, the remaining 
prizes will be assigned, relatively, to the best six stories received, beginning with the prize of twenty dollars. 

Stories may be sent either by mail or express. Address all MSS. for this competition, to The Prize Story 
Committee, care of The Century Co., 33 East 17th St., New York. 


The AG.4SSIZ Association is now well known 
to the readers of St. NICHOLAS, as a national, 
and, indeed, international, union of local societies 
of young and old folk, for the purpose of studying 
natural objects by personal observation. 

The first iinportant public mention of the A. A. 
will be found in the number of St., 
for November, 1880; and, since then, regular 
monthly reports of the progress of the Association 


1 have appeared in the closing pages of this maga- 

, zine. The files of the magazine will thus be 

s found to contain a complete history of its work. 

I The first general convention of the Agassiz Asso- 
ciation was held at Philadelphia, on the 2d, 3d, 

. and 4th of September, 1S84, by invitation of the 

, Philadelphia Assembly, which is a society formed 

r by the union of most of the chapters of the A. A. 

1 in or near Philadelphia.* 

* The proceedings of the convention are printed in fnll, and may be had at cost price, on application to Mr. Robt. T. Taylor, 

4701 Leiper street, Philadelphia, Pa. 




In the evening of Sept. 2d, an informal reception 
was held, during wliich the president of the A. A. 
and the officers of the Assembly had the pleasure 
of meeting about three hundred delegates from 
widely scattered chapters, States as far apart as 
Iowa and Maine being represented. The ne.xt 
morning, by special invitation, the convention \'is- 
ited the Philadelphia Academy of Sciences, and 
spent several hours in examining the treasures ol 
the wonderful collection. 

In the afternoon, the first regular session was 
opened by ])rayer, at 2 (j'clock, in the hall of the 
Franklin Institute. John Shallcross, Esq., Presi- 
dent of the Assembly, gave a cordial address of 
welcome, to which President Harlan H. Ballard 
responded for the Agassiz Association. Then fol- 
lowed a series of excellent papers and discussions 
by various delegates. The exercises included the 
histories of several chapters ; a stirring debate. 
"Eyes ?'i7;f/«' Books ; " papers on "The A. A. in 
the Family" and "The A. A. in the Public 
School ; " and essays on " Methods of Work." 

In the evening, the Rev. Henry C. McCook 
delivered a lecture on " Ants and Their Architect- 
ure," which was highly entertaining, instructive, 
and suggestive of methods of observation. 

On Thursday morning, the convention visited 
the Zoological Gardens, and were courteoush 
received by Superintendent Brown, who guided 
them through the different buildings, where wild 
animals are kept in a condition of remarkable 

The hard-wood floors of their cages shone like 
the floor of a dancing-hall. We were quite inter- 
ested in an attempt that was being made to secure 
a photograph of a refractory old bison. Owing to 
his restlessness and ill-nature, the attempt was not 
successful, but the delegates grouped themselves 
in front of the lion and tiger house, and a picture 
of them was taken, which was perhaps quite as 

In the afternoon came the second regular ses- 
sion at the Franklin Institute. A very important 
feature of the day was an address by Prof James 
McAllister, superintendent of the public schools 
of Philadelphia. He spoke in the warmest terms 
of the excellent work and admirable methods of tlie 
Agassiz Association, and expressed the hope that 
a chapter might ultimately be formed in connec- 
tion with every school in the United States ; or, 
at least, in default of that, that the methods of the 
A. A. should be adopted in every school, so that 
young people should learn to use their own e> es 

instead of blindly following the statements of their 
books. Next, special topics in the several branches 
of natural histor)- were considered. Papers were 
read on "The Bluebird;" "The Fishes of 
Texas ; " "' Botany ; " " Insect Transformation ; " 
and "A Cruise Around Salt Lake." 

Prof Wni. K. Dudley, of Cornell Universit)-. 
gave a most hel]jful talk on " Preparing Plants for 
the Herbarium ; " and, in passing, it must be said 
that no one thing gives the members greater en- 
couragement than the aid so kindly extended to 
them by many eminent men of science. Of those 
who have helped the Association in years past. Prof. 
Dudley, Prof G. Howard Parker, of Cambridge, 
and Prof C. H. Fernald, of the Maine State 
College, were present at the sessions of the 

The president of the A. A. closed the exercises 
by an address on "Methods of Work," and the 
" Future of the Association." The applause that 
greeted his reference to " our most powerful patron 
and most faithful friend, the good St. Nicholas," 
showed what a warm place the magazine holds in 
the hearts of all its members. After the address, 
Mr. Shallcross, in behalf of the assembly, presented 
to the president a beautiful gold-headed cane. 

In the evening the delegates, by invitation, went 
in a body to the Electrical Exhibition. They were 
received in the lecture-room by Prof. Houston, 
who explained, in a short lecture, some of the 
more important pieces of electrical mechanism 
they were to see ; and then they dispersed through- 
out the building, and spent a delightful evening 
among the wonders of the place. 

The most marked feature of this con\ention 
was the feeling of friendly fellowship continually 
manifested. Not only was no word spoken that 
could cause regret, but everything was said and 
done that could minister to the happiness of each 
and all. There was no machinery of business 
to distract attention from the consideration of the 
various branches of natural science ; and, thanks 
to the wise simplicity of the Constitution of the 
A. A., not a vote was called for, except a rising 
vote of thanks to the generous hosts and to the 
gentlemen who kindh- addressed the convention. 

The result of the first meeting has been a firm 
cementing of friendship, a great increase of en- 
thusiasm, and a conviction that the Agassiz .Asso- 
ciation is certain to grow far more rapidly in the 
future than it has e\ er grown before. You are now 
invited to turn to the regular report of the A. A., 
on page 78 of this number. 

H. H. B. 







Sagittarius bends his bow, 
'I'hat the Sun may hunting go. 

He pursues the chase so far 
That our skies quite gloomy are. 





Sun on 

Holidays ^iml Incidents. 





H. M. 

Benvenuto Cellini, b. 1500. 





21st Sunday after Trinity. 





Mendelssohn, died 1847. 






C very near Aldebaran. 





G near Saturn. 






Gust's Adolphus, d. 1632. 





C bet. Procyon & Twins. 






John Milton, died 1674. 





22d Sunday after Trinity. 






tl near Regulus & Jupiter. 






King Canute, died 1035. 










C near Venus. 





C near Spica. 





Gluck, died 1787. 




23d .Sunday after Trinity. 





Acc'n of Q. Eliz'th, 1.558. 





Sir D. Wllkie, b. 1785. 





C near Mars. 






Thos. Chatterton. b. 1752. 





Venus near Spica. 





Lord Clive, died 1774. 






24th Sunday after Trinity. 




Peace dec'd bet. G. Brit. 






[and .\nierica, 1814. 




11.18 Soult, died 1850. 






Thanksgiving Day. 





Wash'n Irving, d. 1859. 






Horace Greeley, d. 1S7'2. 




.A.dvent Sunday. 


Rosy are the apples that are crowding in the bin; 
Golden is the grain, with the sunlight gathered in; 
Ripe and rich the clusters that have swung in juicy prime; 
But the rainfall of the nuls is the children's harvest-time. 

Evening Skies for Young Astronomers. 

(See Introduction, page 255. St. Nicholas for January. )" 
November 15th, 8.30 p. m. 

Saturn is now very conspicuous in the east, and not far from 
him are our old acquaintances of last winter, Aldebaran and 
the Pleiades, the stars of Taurus, The Bull. Orion, too, is 
rising in the east. Altair is going down in the west, Lyra in 
the north-west. The Dipper of T/ie Great Bear is now at its 
lowest point immediately under the North Star, Cassiopeia, 
The Lady in her Chair, is nearly overhead in the Milky Way. 
The Square of Pegasus is now upright, Markab and Scheat 
have passed an hour to the west, and now the other two stars 
of the square are exactly over our south mark. The upper 
one is Alpherat of the constellation A}idroi>ieda, the lower 
one is Algenib of the constellation Pegasus. 

We have not traced the path of the sun since September. 
The two stars of Capricornus are still visible in the south-west ; 
the sun passes from the point mentioned near them, which he 
occupies the ^oth of January, to a point in a line with 
Alpherat and Algenib, and just as far below Algenib as that 
star is distant from Alpherat. This point is on the equinoctial 
line, and the sun reaches it on the 21st of March. 

The Milky Way makes a complete arch from east to west. 
Notice that near the star Arided in Cygiins, The Sivan, the 
Milky Way divides into two branches, descending to the west. 
Altair is on the very edge of the south branch. Facing the 
west and looking upward at Cygnus, we now see that there 
are two other stars below Arided, that with the other stars of 
the constellation form a large upright cross. 


" Look at me,'' said the Peacock, sj^reading his tail and sd uttint; i^randly about, " am I not handsome ? 
"Yes," replied the Turkey, *• in your own eyes; but I put up a perpetual thanksgiving that 1 was not 
hatched so vain as you." 

"I .should think thanksgiving \\-as i-ather a tender subject for vou," rejoined the Peacock, pluming 

" Not at all," said the Farmer, who had been listening to this interchange of civililies ; "he is a tender 
subject for Thanksgiving ! " And so saying he caught up the Turkey, and carried him off to market. 

"Well, well!" said the Peacock, "I'm glad I'm too handsome to eat, and that fine feathers don't 
always make fine birds according to tiie cook." 

"The names of planets are printed in capitals, — those of constellations in italics. 


Foi^ Boys and Gii^ls. 



I « ill 



" Whkrk are my bow and arrows, and my buskins, Mother ? " cried November, slipping in on a little bit 
of Ihin ice. " I ■\\ ant to go a-hunting. I can't do very much for you in your garden, and I must look after 
the deer and the rabbit." 

" Oh, but my lad ! " cried Dame Nature, " there are late pears and apples awaiting you, and the 
squashes and pumpkins must be gathered, or we shall not be ready for Thanksgiving. You must begin to 
nip the vines and leaves and late flowers, for there is much clearing up to bt; done. Vou are quite enough 
of an executioner, November, without going after game." 

" Well, well ! " said November, rather cross and surly, " if I must, I must ; but if I could only have my 
own way a little, I would be a great deal more agreeable. How can you expect me to be very bright and 
sunny when 1 have to do so much ungracious work ? " 


Bv Agnes L. Carter. 

AVhat will become of the trees, Mamma ? 
The leaves are falling, one by one. 
Colder it blows ; 
Soon come the snows. 
What will become of the trees, Mamma, 
The bare, brown trees, when all is done ? 

Will not the trees be cold. Mamma, 
Wlien all the leaves are blown away? 
When nights are long. 
And winds are strong, 
^\'ill not the trees be cold, Mamma, 
On many a cold and wintry day? 

What will become of the leaves, Mamma ? 
.\way before the wind they fled ; 
After their play, 
Hurried away. 
What will become of the leaves. Mamma ? 
1 can not think that thev are dead. 

Poor little leaves ! It is sad. Mamma. 
If I run after them, will they mind ? 
Now for a race ! 
Now for a chase ! 
I will bring you some prett_\" leaves. Mamma ; 
Some tired leaves that are left behind. 


J A C K - I X - T H E - P U L P I T . 


GOOD-DAV to you, one and all, my friends ! It 
is delightful to meet this time, in bright, bracing, 
grateful November, and to shake hands, so to 
speak, at the very threshold of a new volume of 
St. Nicholas. 

Now, what shall we take up first ? The letters ? 
Very well ; the letters it shall be. 

Here is one sent by a little girl across the Atlantic 
to tell 


Oeden'burg, via Vienna, Hungary, July 19, 1884. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I always find creat interest in the 
information you give, and especially in that which relates to natural 
history : and as I think that some of your little readers will have the 
same interest, I want to tell you a very wonderful incident about 
birds, whi:h I hope will aaiuse them. Here, at Oedenburg, at the 
baclv of the theater, there was an empty swallow's nest, of which a 
pair of lazy sparrows took possession. They made themselves quite 
at home, laid their C2:gs in it, and hatched out their young ones. 
After a while the s.valljvvs came back and were not at all pleased to 
see their nest occupied, but they were seen flying quietly away. 
Soon they came back, accompanied bv ten or twenty other swallows, 
carryiig in their bills mud and building materials. These actually 
be:;an to work at shutting up the nest, so that the poor little .guilt- 
less sparrow-^ had to die of hunger. The sparrow-papa was killed a 
short distance from his nest, and the poor little m.Tmma was left to 
watch and wail over her unhappiness. Did you know that dear 
little swallows could be so cruel in their wrath ? This is a true story, 
and I have seen the nest myself. It will soon be taken to the mu- 
seum at Pcsth. Ever your constant reader, Tildi M. Ripp. 

This letter will make a sensation among my 
birds if they happen to hear of it. The swallows 
will den\- its accuracy, and the sparrows will indig- 
nantly insist that the story is an invention ; but 
all the other birds will say, as I do, that it is true. 
It is not the first time that swallows have acted in 
this way, and 1 am very sure it is not the last time 
that sparrows will get into difficulty. What we 
want is a bird-college, where the feathered students 
can study moral philosophy. Don't you notice 
how good and fair and forgiving human beings 

are? And don't they study moral philosophy? 
Great allowance should be made for the poor 
ignorant birds. 

Then, again, there sometimes m.ny be other 
extenuating circuinstances, as in the following 
history of 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pi: lpit : While I was visiting my Eastern 
cousins, this summer, we saw a great big cat running as hard as she 
could from half a dozen robins. But she could not escape them, 
for they flew after her, and pecked at her head as if they were deter- 
mined to kill htr. Finally, they seemed to think she had been pun- 
ished enough, and they wf.hdrew from the attack and settled down 
on the ground in a queer jerky way, as if to say, "There, we 'II 
teach ihose cats that they must not trouble iis " 

Now, this C 't had the reputation in my cousins' neighborhood of 
being a great bird-killer : and undoubtedly the angry roijins had seen 
her trj'ing tn attack some of their nests — may be she had even killed 
their young birds. 

M. E. R. 


A LITTLE girl of twelve summers, whose par- 
ents lately moved from Kansas to Boston, has 
written the Little School-ma'am a letter, telling 
of '' trips along the Atlantic coast. " "Of course," 
she says, "you know about the wonderful spout- 
ing rock at Newport, Rhode Island ? 

"It usually spouts during a storm, when people 
dare not go out on the rocks, and then the grand 
scene is lost. But we saw it at its best, when it 
was spouting higher than it had spouted for years. 
We had to climb up on some massive rocks, and 
there we stood and gazed. 

" Far out on a rocky ledge great waves were 
breaking and dashing furiously about the rocks, 
forming a magnificent picture. But most inter- 
esting of all was the spouting rock. It has an 
opening in it about three feet across, where the 
water rushes through, and in coming out is thrown 
many feet into the air, making a natural fountain 
of pure white foam. 

" Cousin Harry, who was with us, is of an invent- 
ive turn of mind, with a natural liking for investi- 
gation ; so he walked as near the edge of the 
rocks as possible. But that was not enough. Oh, 
no ! he must look into the opening. So he 
clambered down the rocks cautiously, went up to 
the very edge, took a peep, and then, in his 
anxiety to ' see how it worked,' stood with his 
head over the opening and — up it came ! Harry 
walked off into the sun to dry, feeling, perhaps, 
that he had been reproved for trying to pry into 
Nature's unpatented inventions. 

" A man who was there said that v hen he was a 
boy the opening was much smaller and the water 
spouted much higher, but that it is being grad- 
ually worn away by the waves." 


Danville, III , May 22, '84. 
Dear Jack: Are ants in the habit of caring for the remains of 
their dead ? •\ few days ^ince, my brother and I saw an ant carrying 
one as large ns itself, which was dead It took the little body up a 
step eight inches high, and about ten feet on the stone wall, where 
it disappeared with its burden. Ever yours gratefully, 

G. 'M. B. 

Who can answer G. M. B. ? ) 

i884.] THE RIDDLE- BOX. 75 


Now, who would think that a j;ood little New 
England girl would do such a thing as try to 
frighten a kindly, well-disposed Jack-in-the-Pulpit 
like me ! Yet here is her letter plain as day — 
just as she wrote it — postmarked New Hampshire : 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I want to tell you about what was 
upon our farm. No one knows wliat it was. It makes a noise like 
singing, and my aunty thought it was a crazy man walking around. 
Grandma put a bone on the window-seat, and it nibbled it some and 
went away and left tracts, but they could not tell what it was. 

Your friend, HfXEN. 

Horrible ! The idea of those tracts sends a chill 
through mc. Deacon Green has seen your letter, 
and, though he is badly frightened, he says "it" 
evidently is not a school-master, or it would have 
left different " tracts" from those. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : In a recent number of our St. 
NlCHOL.^s something was said about bees building in trees. You also 
asked if any one else had seen anythingof the kind. Ihavc. A year 


The answer to the above rebus is a couplet from " E-ssay on 
Poetry," by Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. 

or two ago the bees swarmed on our place, and after several ineffect- 
ual attempts on our part to hive them, they left the yard and settled 
on a limb of a small willow-lrec, about 200 yards from the house. They 
staid there luitil winter, when they all froze. While on the willow- 
tree they built sevcial large sheets of comb. This they filled 
with honey, and all of it was nicely capped. The tree was leaning 
over a branch or brook. It was also very near the road, and the 
bees became quite a curiosity. 

I am, your reader, 

Emm.\ LEON.^r(D. 


lJuRNT RivEFJ, Oregon. 

Dear Jack ; In St. Nicholas for last .March you told of a large 
huney-comb, seen near Santa Anna, Cal. I will tell you of one I saw 
in 1876 — on the Klamath river in Northern California. A Mr. Jack- 
.son who lived there had a large tree of bees. Near the place where 
the bees we:e, there stood a tall cottonwood-tree, thirty feet high, I 
should think. The tree rose from the bottom of a small stream, and 
the road or trail came off high ground, so that as you came toward 
the tree, if on horseback, you were almost on a level with the top. 

Riding along there one day I glanced at the top of the tree, and 
there 1 saw a large mass of honev with bees thick around it. It was 
cone-shaped, with the ape.v pninting down. It was longer one way, 
and I should think would ha\'e filled a half bushel. How large it 
afterward became, or how long it remained there, I do not know, as 
I left the locality during that fall. There were plenty of wild bees 
all through the mountains, but they stored their honey in hollow 
trees. 1 never ■■aw or heard of any other comb being farmed on the 
outside of the tree. J. F. Cooper. 


The answer, consisting of one hundred and one letters, is a four- 
line stanza, and expresses a sentiment appropriate for I hanksgiving- 


My 2-6-1-3-5-22 is a meal. My 15-4-19-27-1S is a large stream. 
My 7-25 is an exclamation My 23-S-17-Q is a kingdom in Farther 
India. My 10-11-21-24-20-12 is to cherish. My 16-13-14-26 is a 
division of time. 


My 28-47-53-51-46 is a large bird. My 31-39-30-42-45-29 is to 
remain firm. iMy 34-35-5o-32-4i dirt. My 33-44-37-40-38-48 is a 
hangman's rope. My 49-36-52-43 is to whip. 


My 54-56-68-65-73 is to embellish. My 74-63-58-60-55 is a sharp 
shoot from the stem of a tree or shrub. My 71-61-59-64-69 js en- 
gaged for wages. My 62-67-76-57 is a kind of covering for the 
head. My 77-75-72-66-70 Is an arrow. 


My IOO-7S-94-98-ES Is a peg. My 80-87-83-89-82-79-91-81-86-92 
are low tracts of land inundated with water. My 85-84-97-101 are 
small watch-pockets. My 96-90-59-95-93 is to gleam. 



Mv angry Jirst did lash and roar amain ; 

My second, all undaunted, saw the rage. 
My third, meanwhile, did bow and bow again 
With courtesy this fury to assuage. 
" Ho," laughed my scco7id, "you shall quickly see 
Whether my third and I ha\ e fear of thee; 
Roar as thou wilt, we take our destined path. 
And with my Ti'hvL- will overcome thy wrath." 

ivi. A. H. 


Across: i. An iuici\ilized person. 2. A large earless seal. 3. 
Falls in drops. 4. The close of the day. 5. In breakfasting. 

Downward: i. In breakfasting. 2. A conjunction. 3. A color. 
4. Unadorned. 5. Living. 6. Mature. 7. K.xclamations of joy or 
triumph. S. An article. 9, In breakfasting. " LVON h.\rt." 


I. Taunting. 2, Hatred. 3. To fall back. 4. Beseeches. 5. 
A SDecies of poplar. 6. To hiss. 7. A part of the body. S, 
Within. 9. A consonant. "rovaltarr." 






Each of the words described contains nine letters. When rightly 
selecced and placed one below the other in the order here given, the 
fourth row of letters (reading downward) will spell an act of express- 
ing gratitude, and the sixth row, a publication by authority. These 
two lines, read in connection, name an important document which 
is issued annually, 

Ckoss-words : i. Manifold. 2. Practicing arithmetic. 3. 
Thumped soundly. 4. Shells which adhere to rocks and timbers. 
5. A coarse tc^cture worn as a mark of mourning. 6. An officer of 
the peace. 7. Having three sorts of flowers in the same head. 8. 
Having several leaflets arranged like the fingers of the hand, at the 
extremity of a stem. g. Need. 10. Determinations. 11. The 
whooping-cough, 12. Of the same nature or disposition. 



3 .... 4 

5 . . ■ ■ 6 

7 .... a _ 

From i to 2. a rogue ; from 2 to 6, foliage; from 5 to 6, utensils; 
from I to 5, bordered ; from 3 to 4, a titmouse; from 4 to 8, to tie ; 
from 7 to 8, one who tans; from 3 to 7, a disturbance; from i to 3, 
a small animal; from 2 to 4, illuminated; from 6 to 8, a title; from 
5 to 7, a small spot. fred. 


Concealed Double Acrostic. In each of the following sen- 
tences a cross-word is concealed, the definition of which is given in 
the same sentence. 

I. Can Ella give me a pretty name for a pretty girl? 2. It will 

teach Edwin not to row so far, if he would avoid the pain in his 
wrists. 3. The psalm is solemn, if I do not err. 4. I gave Elsie a 
long squirming fish. 

The initials (which mean a cognomen) and the finals (meaning 
smaller) may both be found in the following 

Double Cross-word Enigma: 

In'knoll, not in mound; 

In lake, not in ground; 

In homes, not in land; 

In heads, not in hands; 

You '11 find the answer rather tame, 

As for it I can find no name. 

gilbert FORRESTER. 


The problem is to change one given word to another given word, 
by altering one letter at a dme, each alteration making a new word, 
the number of letters being always the same, and the letters remain- 
ing always in the same order. Sometimes the metamorphoses may 
be made in as many moves as there are letters in each given word, 
but in other instances more moves are required. 

Exaiiifle: Change lamp to fire, in four moves. Answer, 

LAMP, lame, fame, FARE, FIRE. 

I. Change one to two, in ten moves. 2. Change fish to bird, 
in five moves. 3. Change north to south, in twelve moves. 4. 
Change earth to water, in eleven moves. 5. Change east to 
west, in three moves. 6. Change calf to veal, in five moves. 
7. Change pink to blue, in eleven moves. 8. Change lion to 
bear, in se\'en moves. f. w. 


Ik what poem by William Cullen Eiyant do the following lines 
occur ? 

Soulriog rea het swodo ni rethi stealt dolg dan scrimno, 
Tey rou lufl-veadle swollwi ear ni rcith sthefres nereg. 
Cush a kylind muntau, os luciferlym leandig 
Hitw eth storghw fo muserm, I rcnve tey heav nese. 


Concealed Word-squares. I. i. Nadir. 2. Alone. 3. Dozen. 

4. Inert. 5. Rents. II. i. Blanc 2. Labor. 3. Abate. 4. 
Notes. 5. Crest. Charade. Clergj'-man. 

Quotation Puzzle. Longfellow. 1. SheLley. 2. GOldsmith. 
3. BurNs. 4. Gray. 5. LongFellow. 6. PopE. 7. HoLnies. 
8. CoLeridge. g. TennysOn. 10. Wordsworth, 

Word-square, x. Craber. 2. Remote. 3. Ambons. 4. Bootee. 

5. Etnean, 6. Resent. 
An Open Letter. 

A letter, timely writ, is a rivet to the chain of affection : 
And a letter, untimely delayed, is as rust to the soldier. 
Easy Beheadings. Wellington. i. W-hen. 2. E-ton. 3. 
L-ash. 4. L-ark. 5. I-van. 6. N-ape. 7. G-one. 8. T-our. 9. 
G-men. 10. N-ail. 

Pi. October turned my maple's leaves to gold ; 

The most are gone now; here and there one lingers; 
Soon these will slip from out the twig's weak hold. 
Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. 

T. B. Aldrich, in Maple Leases." 
Anagrams, i. Jack the Giant-killer. 2. The Sleeping Beauty. 
3. Jack and the Bean-stalk. 4. Little Red Riding-hood. 5. Beauty 
and the Beast. 6. Cinderella. 

Double Final Acrostics. Talent, sports. Cross-words; i. 
suITS. 2. strAP. 3. rolLO. 4. JatER. 5. stiNT. 6. goaTS. 

Double Diagonal. Real, true. Cross-words: i. RenT. 2. 
fERn. 3. dUAl. 4. EviL. 

St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. I. 1. S. 2. Sap. 3. 
Salem. 4. Pew, 5. M. II. i. M. 2. Tar. 3. Maker. 4 Red. 
5. R. III. I. M. 2. War. 3. Mayor. 4. Rot. 5. R. IV. i. 
M. 2. Bar. 3. Manor. 4. Rod. 5. R. V. i. R. 2. Tip. 3. 
Rider. 4. Pen. 5. R. 

The Prisoner's Puzzle. 






Numerical Enigma. 

Attempt the end, and never stand in doubt ; 
Nothing 's so hard but search will find it out. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co. 33 East Seventeenth street. New York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in the Ai^gust Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the October number, from John, 
Lily, and Agnes Warburg, London, 8 — Bella and Cora Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 5 — Carl and Norris, Ayr, Scotland, 2. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from "Cousins " — Paul Reese — 
Bertha Feldwisch — Hattie B. Badeau — E, H. H., H. S., and A, W.— S. R. T. — Maggie T. Turrill — " Shumway Hen and Chickens" 
— " Daisy, Pansy, and Sweet William " — Clara and Mamma — Johnny Duck — " Unknown to Histoi-y " — T. R. S. and E. R. S. — Harry 
W. Wheelock — Francis W, Islip — Hugh and Cis. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from Maude, i — Grace Zublin, i — Lillie 
R. B., I — Elmer Haynes, i — S. H. Hepner, i — Daisy H. R., 2 — " Lucretia " and "Minnehaha," i — M. Alice Barrett, i — C. L. 
Weir, 3 — Ellie and Susie, i — Clara L. Powers, i — G. R. and J. N., i — Albert G. Wliitney, 2 — Tiny Puss, Mitz, and Muff, 13 — Agnes 
and Emma. 6 — M. F. Pemberton, i — Lena Smith and Nannie Rogers, i — E. M. Lewis, 4 — " Pepper and Maria," 13 — Geo. C. Beebe, 
I _C, S. and G. B., - —"Aunt Helene," i~ Effie K. Talboys, 5— Frank Smyth, 4 — Alex. H. Laidlaw, 7 — J. Webb Parker, 6— Dollie 
Palmer, 4 — Helen Du Barrx'-, 2 — Ida C. Lusk, 13 — Hamilton E. Field, i — Kenneth B. Emerson, 7 — George Habenicht, i — Kittie 
Greenwood A., 2 — Edith and Lawrence Butler, 2 — Flossie L. N. , i — Miles Turpin, 9 — Gertrude and Harrj', g — Charles H. Kyte, 11 — 
E. Muriel Grundy, 8 — Louis Schuman, i — Cora Achor and Nettie Taylor, 7 — " Sairy Gamp and Betsy Prig," 5 — Edith Swanwick, g 
— Elizabeth B. R. H., i — Edith Valedy, S — Miss Spiller and Eleanor and Maude Peart, 5 — "In the Glen," 8 — Jennie Balch, 3 — 
Carrie and Bess. 4 — " Papa and I," 8 — Grace Zublin, 1 — Mary P. Stockett, 4 — Lulu and Ida Newman, 10. 





Owing to an oversight, the trnnslation of "The Floral Letter" 
which appeared in the September number of S r. Nicholas was 
omitted from the (_)ctober number. It is therefore printed here. The 
correct reading of the letter is as follows : 

" Dear Stkenie : 

" I hope you 'II be a 'daisy' boy; 

You 've ever been a joy to me; 
Your principles don't violate, 

A sterling man you then will be. 
As puny boys make sickly men, 

I hope you 're of a healthy stock. 
Rise with the larks, perhaps you do, 

But not too soon; — say four o'clock. 
If good report you lack at school, 

I would by no means whine and fret; 
But courage take and say to Sloth: 
' Be gone, you wretch! I '11 conquer yet!' 
Some folks there are who lie like time. 

And with a sweet peculiar ease; 

That you will not be one of them 
I 'd wager any amount you please! 

Be sure you don't refuse your aid 
To help a fellow-man's hard lot. 

Sweet will your memories ever be; 
And now, good-bye, — forget me not. 
"Your affectionate 

" Uncle Rt'ssELL." 

The flowers mentioned in the letter arc respectively: daisy, ver- 
bena, violet, aster, cyclamen, stock, larkspur, four-o'clock, portulaca, 
woodbine, begonia, lilac, thyme, sweet-pea, geranium, fuchsia, 
sweet-william, and forget-me-not. 

Boys and girls who like to make with their own hands some of the 
Christmas gifts which they present to their friends will appreciate 
Mr. Leiand's article on Metallic Band and Nail Work on page 65. 
They may also be glad to refer to Mr. Leiand's papers on Erass- 
work (St. Nicholas for July, 1S33), and Modem Leather-work 
(St. Nicholas for May, 1884). 


Ayr, Scotland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Wc are spending our summer holidays 
here in the " Land of Burns," and often go on our tricycles to visit 
the cottage where the poet was bom. One sees there some of the 
original furniture, also some of his own handwriting in his poems 
and letters. In the visitors' book at the cottage we noticed that 
many of the names were those of Americans. Near by is the monu- 
ment to Burns's memory. It is placed in a beautiful garden. From the 
top of the monument one has a fine view of the " Auld Brig 
o'Doon," where Tarn o' Shanter was supposed to have crossed 
when chased by the witches. Alloway Kirk is close by. Bums's 
father is buried in the church-yard. 

I remain, yours truly, Carl N. Stockwei.l. 

BrFFALO. 1S84. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We had a great deal of fiui one day repeat- 
ing some of the well-known alliterations, such as " Peter Piper," 
" Five Brave Maids," etc. We came across a few new ones, among 
which were "She sells sea-shells" and "Sweet sleek sheep sleep." 
Please let your young readers know about ihem. I think they 
will find it rather difficult to say the sentences rapidly. 

Your constant reader, Elizabeth T. Smith. 

Greenville, S. C, i8S.i. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Your article on " Old Shep and the Central 
Park Sheep," in the August number, is most interesting to me. as 
my father has lately given me a full-blooded Collie, which I am 
an.\'ioiis to teach several tricks. I write to ask some of your readers 
to tell me how I can train or teach my little pet. Its name is 
Cleopatra, but we call it "Cleo," which we think pretty. I wish 
"Cleo" to perform as many tricks as I can succeed in teaching 

Trusting that my letter is not too long and to see several letters 
on this subject from some of your many readers. 

Your constant reader, Lalla E. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I hope no boy or girl will tiy the trick here 
to be described on any v€?y nervous person. But to those who 
will promise to be good, and not scare anybody, I will tell all 
about it. 

Take the Uvo half shells of an English walnut, as large as can be 
held between the brow and cheek, and in the middle of each bore a 
hole a little larger than the pupil of your eye. The shell is soft 
enough to cut with a penknife. A gimlet would crack it. 

Care should be taken to thoroughly clean the Inside of the shells. 

Now paint, over all, a coat of white paint. You need not be very 
particular, because if it does go thin in places it will only help the 
weird effect. And you may use either oil or water-colors. The oil 
is most permanent and effective, but the water-color dries right ofT; 
and, as a piece of fun is most fim when done most quickly, we sup- 
pose the latter method is the better. 

Around the pupil-hole paint the iris a dark dull green. Let the 
size of it be somewhat larger than the natural eye. If you have no 
artistic friend at hand to guide you, you can get the color near 
enough by mi.ving blue with a little yellow and a little red. Do not 
paint the color all round, but leave a small space of white on the 
upper left-hand side. Be careful to keep this on the same side of each, 
as it represents the glare of sunlight on the eye, and so should 

come from the same direction. In arranging them for painting, it is 
best to place them on the table in position, with the pointed ends of 
the shells toward each other. And it is better to leave the light in the 
white, which is already on the shell, than to paint the iris all round 
and then try to put the white light on. The effect is heightened by 
painting a thick black line round the outer edge of the iris. 

Finally, with a bright vermilion, daub irregular blotches of color 
all around the edge of the shells and a few irregular blobs in the 
lower part of the iris, and you will ha\ e a pair of the most astonish- 
ing eyes you can imagine. The diagram above will help you in color- 
ing — the dark lines representing the green and the light ones tlie red. 

To fit on the eyes, hold one in each hand, taking care that the points 
are toward each other and that the lights will appear on top when 
in position. Then open your eves and raise your eyebrows as high 
as you possibly can ; and putting both shells up at once, set them 
so that each completely covers one ej-e. You will find that the 




edges of the shells, even when ihe eyes are fully distended, press 
safely between the upper lid and the fleshy under-part of the brow 
and in the hollow between the lower lid and the cheek ; and that 
there is plenty of room inside the shell even for the eyelashes to 

play , and so there can be no danger of injury to the eye. Feeling 
secure of this, and adjusting the shell? till you feel they are in the 
best position for holding, let your eyes and brows fall to their natural 
position, and you will hnd your false eyes lightly but sufficiently 
held. Adjust both at once : for if you try to put them in one at a 
time, the effort to unduly expand one eye will disturb the other. 

Of course, you set them privately. And then you need make no 
other demonstration in going into the presence of your victims. Just 
go quietly and iooi- at them. 

Henrv W. Trov. 

Stonington, Ct., 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have been a subscriber to you quite long, 
and always am glad when I go to the post-ofllice and find you in the 
box. I like Miss Alcott's "Spinning-wheel Stories" very much. 

Two other stories, "Jack and Jill " and " Tinkham Brothers' Tide- 
Mill," I thought were splendid. Stonington is on Long Island 
Sound, and is an old sea-port. In the summer it is quite a resort 
for city people. It was attacked by the Hriii^h ship Terror and 
another in the war of 1812, and 
on the ninth (if August we cel- 
ebrate the battle. '1 he two old 
eighteen-pounders which defend- 
ed this place in the battle stand 
uncovered OLit on the Common, 
in front of our house, and often 
yon may see strangers stop and 
look at them I have just received 
tht; August number of the splen- 
did magazine, and I am enjoying 
reading it. 

Your friend. 

O. B. B. 

Brook:l\'n, Sept., 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are 
two girls who have taken you 
nearly three years, and enjoy you 
very much. We send our hearty 
thanks to Miss Louisa Alcott for 
her lovely stories, and you may 
tell her for ns that we are always 
interested in books she writes. 
We remain, your ardent admirers, Jennie and Marion. 

P. S. — Marion is eleven years old and I am thirteen. 

The number of letters received from our young correspondents is 
greater than we can make room for in our "Letter-box," but 
we wish especially to thank the following boys and girls for their 
pleasant letters : Leon A. Mitchell, May I\IcLoughlin, Maud 
McQuaid, A. G. K., Fanny Hope, Richard H., Evelyn D., Jean 
11. G., Anna P. A., Genevieve A. Farnell, Nan, Nellie Nottingham, 
Hattie A. Homer, Blanche A, Tuck, Mamie A. Cramer, Nina 
Nicholas, Hallie, Josie H. Barrett, Lillie F. C, George C. Gale, 
and Beatrice Hartford. 


An Invitation. 

" Here bcginneth " the fifth year of the St. Nicholas Agassiz 
Association. It Is no longer an experiment, but it is an assured success. 
Our records show that over seven hundred local branches have been 
formed, most of which are still flourishing, and that we have enrolled 
more than ci^ht thousand members. We will not now repeat the 
history of the society, but refer the thousands of young people who 
begin their acquaintance with St. Nicholas with this new \'ohimc to 
the reports that have regularly appeared here since November, i28o, 
and to a brief account of our late delightful con^■ention, which will 
be found on page 68. We wish now to renew to you all our 
hearty invitation to join our Association. There are thousands who 
read our reports and take a lively interest in our work who have not 
yet sent in their names as active members of the A. A. It is a good 
time to do this at the opening of a new year. You will find little 
difficulty in finding three besides yourself, and we will recognize four 
as a "Chapter." There are Father and Mother and Brother John at 
once; so you need n't delay. There is no charge for the admission 
of a Chapter, although it is necessary that you have a copy of our hand- 
book, giving complete history, rules, etc. This costs fifty-four cents, 
and beyond this there will be no expense, nor are there any yearly 
dues. If you can not form a Chapter, you cnn join by yourself as a 
corresponding member of the original Association at Lenox, Mass. 
For this there is a nominal entrance fee of fifty cents, but no further 
dues. The advantages that yon may expect have been detailed 
often in these reports, and are briefly these : 

I St. Free communication, correspondence, and exchange with 
thousands of naturalists, young and old, in nearly all portions nf the 

2d. The privilege of receiving free assistance, in whatever depart- 
ment you select, from a scientist who is an authority in that depart- 

3d. The occasional notice of your desire to exchange or correspond, 
in the columns of St. Nicholas. 

4th. The privilege of attending any of the conventions of the 

5th. The opportunity of aiding and interesting all the others by a 
record of your own observations and methods of work. 

There is no reason w^hy there should not be a Chapter of the A. A. 
in every town — in you7- town. The name of each new Chapter, 
with the address of its permanent secretary, is regularly printed in 
St. Nicholas and i.T the hand-book. 

Our badge is a Swiss cros^, of gold or silver, chosen because 
Professor Agassiz was a native of Switzerland. 

It is not required that every member be a subscriber to St. 
Nicholas, although as this magazine is the official organ of the 
Association and contains our monthly reports, the advantage of 
access to its pages is self-e\idcnt. All are welcome. 

The youngest child need not hesitate to write. Our youngest 
member is four years old, and our eldest is more than eighty. Every 
letter is answered, provided it contains the .full address of the writer 
and a postal-card or stamped envelope. 

Many persons wonder how we can find time to do this, and we 
could not unless we felt a deep personal interest in every member of 
the Association. As it is, we are compelled to answer by printed 
circular oftener than wc could wish : but our correspondents may be 
sure that every letter that comes is read by the president and care- 
hilly considered The letters printed here from month to month 
may fairly be taken as models, both as to style and length. 




NrW CltAl'TEKS : 

N'o. Name. No. of Mcmbci's. Address. 

692 Saegcrtown, Pa. (A) 6 .^liss Lizzie Apple, 45 Main St. 

693 Fort Union, N. Mex. (A).. 6. .Jus. Drum, care Lieut. Jno. 


694 Orange, Cal. (A) 7. . Miss Julia Squires. 

6q5 Wellington, Canada ( A) . . . :2, . \V. R. Garratt. 

696 Manhattd,n\ille, N. Y. (A). 5.. Miss Carmen Rosado, Con- 

vent of the Sacred Heart. 

697 Baltimore, Md. (I) 7. . Oliver W. Cook, 63 German St. 

698 Middlcport, N, Y. (A) 6.. J. W. Hicklcy. 

699 Odin, Pa (A) 4.. Victor L. Ucebe. 

700 Mt. Pleasant, Towa (A) 4. Paul H. Woolson. 

701 Stockton, California (A).., 4 ,. Miss Hattie Hedges. 

702 Kingston, N. Y. (A) 4. .\V. D. Newman. 


559 Bath, N. Y Percy C. Mesene. 

203 Framingham, ^L1SS. (A)... 4..F, P. Valentine. 

Reports from Chapters. 

677, Milwaukee, C., one of our latest Chapters, writes. ; " We are 
progressing nicely, have a fine herbarium, a good collection of min- 
erals, and many scientific books, which we read and discuss with the 
most animated interest. Our secretary found a tarantula in a 
bunch of bananas. 1 should like to correspond with other Chapters. 
— Miss Lizzie G. Jordan, 142 3d St. 

555. Olympia, Washington T'y. " Had a meeting in the Tacoma 
of this city. Our cabinet was hung on the wall, and other specimens 
arranged on tables. We are now trying to build a room." 

{ We have no doubt yoii will siieceed ivtth your room ; but ivhat is 
a Tacoma ?\ 

106, Lebanon, N, Y., ha?i been exploring a cave to the depth 
of 70 feet. 

655, New Lyme, O. The members of this Chapter live at quite a 
distance from one another, coming even from several different towns ; 
nevertheless, the work " proves interesting and instructive. " 

[ This is an example 0/ rare cartiesUiess. ] 

158, Davenport, Iowa. Miss Sarah 0. Foote, Sec, writes: 
" Questions are presented at every meeting for consideration during 
the week by every member. We frequently have several visitors." 

642. Florence, Mass. ; A. T. Bliss, Sec. " Progressing splendidly. 
We now have 31 members. About a month ago we began to be in- 
terested in insects." 

508, Middlebury, Vt. Miss May A. Bolton writes: "I trust 
you will hear of good work done by us. Botany is our special 
branch, but we keep our eyes open for anything that is interesting." 

A young lady of California says : " My knowledf;e on these sub- 
jects is not of books as yet, but as I begin to read I find numerous 
confirmations of things I 've seen, as I 've always been given more 
or less to ' peering,' and finding things ' a-purpose.' " 

645, Bath, N. Y., B. " 'X\vo active and two honorary members 
have been added, and six others are to be balloted for at next meet- 
ing. The librarian takes great interest in the A. A. and helps us 
very much." — Charles Kingsley. 

576, Hadley, Mass. " We are going to have a new member and a 
paper. We have a P. O. box now, so that we can change our Sec- 
retary when we want to. The address now stands like this : Sec. of 
Ch. 576 of the A,. A., box 241, Hadley, Mass." 

yrhis report has bee?i crowded out for some time, but is too good 
to omit for thai reasoft.] 

289. Our Chapter has been removed from Cambria Station to 
Longport. N. J., where we have a cottage. We are in a very thriv- 
ing condition. 

Mrs. S. L. Oberholtzer continues President and I Secretary. We 
have several learned naturalists as members, and hold interesting 
meetings weekly. 

We have 40 members, most of whom add greatly to the interest nt 
our meetings. Among our prominent members arc Professors J. P. 
Remington, Eugene Aaron, and ( Jrace .^nna Lewis, the last two 
being members of the Academy of Natural Sciences, Philadelphia. — 
Very cordially, Ellis P. Oberhulczer, Secretary. 

Not Its. 

129. luiperial Moth — I found a caterpillar of the Imperial Moth 
feeding on maple. I had supposed this larva fed only on pine. — F. 
H. Foster, Sec 440. 

130. Alligator. — I saw a note in St. N. to the effect that Alli- 
gators live only in fresh water. In Florida I have frequently see.. 
them in a salt-water bay, a quarter of a mile from the mouth uf the 
river. I had supposed that the Nile and the Ganges, in which crocodiles 
abound, are entirely fresh water. — Ellen C. AN'cod. 

T31. Surfeited Bees, — I have noticed a glutinous substance on 
the leaves and smaller twigs of soft maple. Bees swarm around it, 
and some get so full that they fall to the ground. Can any one tell 
whence, what,iand why it is ''. — C. S. L. 

132. Parasites- — 1 have found minute parasites on the under side 
of a live stag-beetle. — C. S. L. 

133. Lnurcl-fe7'tilizatioti. — I noticed with admiration the prcity 
way in which the stamens of mouniain laurel are caught down in 
the flower. Ten little pockets in the corolla keep them in pl::ce 
until some prying insect touches one, when it flies up with a jerk 
and dusts him well with pollen. The grains were connected by 
threads like those of the azalea. — C. 

134. Spiders. — I found, under a stone, a large brown spider, 
with her family on her back. The little fe)lows were about as large 
as very small ants. I could almost imagine them playing "hide 
and seek" on their walking combination of mother, nursery, and 
play-ground. — Wm. E. McHenry. 

135. jyee-toad. — Why will a tree-toad or a kat>'dld stop singing 
when you touch the tree on which it is? You may put your finger 
within one-sixteenth of an inch of the tree, and the music continues, 
but at the slightest touch it stops. — Frank M. Davis, Sec, St. 
Louis, D. 

[Let 7ts hear frovi others regarding this, that 7ve may knoiv 
whether it is a general fact. ] 

136. Apple-blossoms. — I heard it said by an aged lady that pink 
apple-blossoms produce red apples, and white blossoms yellow 
apples. Is it so ^ — L. M. Howe. 

137. Violets and Asters. — While walking in the woods this fall 
I found a number of common violets. Close by bloomed the purple 
aster. It seemed strange that those two flowers, emblems of spring 
and fall, should blossom side by side. Is it a common occurrence? 
— R. H. Weld, Boston, Mass. 


Cactus. — Jeannie Cowgill, Spearfish, Dakota T'y. 

Phaneus carnifex, ? , for Dytiscus emarginatus or Prionus brevi- 
comus. A cicada for Lucanus dama, or Cotalpa lanigera. — F. W. 
Seabury, 51 Duke St., Norfolk, Va. 

Minerals, fine specimens, including Erucite, spodumcne, and 
Frankhnite. — C. A. Quintard, Norwalk, Conn. 

Petrified wood, mosses, and ferns for an uld " Packard's Geolog>'." 
— Fannie Staples, Linden, California. 

Perfect eggs, with data. — L. B. Fontaine, Augusta, Ga. 

Pressed flowers (Write), — Mrs. F, W. Baldwin, Santa Cruz, Cal. 

A choice collection of one hundred minerals and one hundred 
fossils, for meteorites and ver>' rare fossils. — E. D. Walker, 357 7th 
St . Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Productus giganteus, and crinoid stems, for Mississippi sands. — 
S. C. Durst, box 293, Hamilton, Ohio. 

To any one sending me four 2-cent stamps, to pay postage and 
packing; I will send, free of charge, a box of fine insects. — Ernest 
Stephan, Pine City, Minnesota. 

S.NOw-CR^■STAl. Prize. 

It is now lime for our Association to do some earnest work in the 
collection of drawings of snow-crystals. Wc have already done 
something, but not with sufficient care. Among the drawings sent 
me have been many with four, five, and seven points, although I 
am assured by eminent scientists that they nc-\ er can be formed with 
any other number than three or a multiple of three. Who is right? 

I wish that I might receive this winter a set of at least six cnreful 
drawings from each Chapter or indi\idual member north of the 
snow-line; and to srimulatc efturt a bit, I will send to ihe person 
forwarding me before April i, 1SS5, the best collection of such draw- 
ings a year's subscription to St. Nichol.\s: for the second best 
set, that beautiful book of Prof Winchell, "Sparks from a Geolo- 
gist's Hammer" ; for the third best, " Wonders of Plant Life" ; for 
the fourth best, "The Botanical Collector's Hand-book," price, 
$1.50; and for each of the three sets next in rank, a copy of the 
hand-book of the Agassiz Association. All drawings must be made 
on cards the size of a pustal-card, six crj'stals on each card; and 
each drawing should be accompanied by the following data: ist. 
Locality; 2d. Temperature; 3d. Force of wind; 4th. Collector's 
name. The crystals may bs caught on black cloth and obser\'ed 
with a glass or without. " The pencil is the best microscope." 

Address all communications fur this department to the President 
of the A. A., 

Mr. H.\KLAN H. B.VLU-\RD, 

Principal of Lenox Academy. 

Lenox, Berkshire Co., Mass. 




A/VbeatheBarber at Last skat bis sbop, 
Tvomdhe clouds aBaLcL Eagle cl icL ch'op, 
To purchase a lot 1,017, 
yV brusli, oi' some '■notion" 
To iT?aKe the bail" gi^ovv 




Vol. XII. DECEMBER, 1884. No. 2. 

[Copyright, 1884, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By John G. Whittier. 

A TENDER child of summers three, 

Seeking her little bed at night, 
Paused on the dark stair timidly. 
" Oh, mother ! Take my hand," said she, 
" And then the dark will all be light." 

We older children grope our way 

From dark behind to dark before ; 
And only when our hands we lay. 
Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day 
And there is darkness nevermore. 

Reach downward to the sunless days 
Wherein our guides are blind as we. 

And faith is small and hope delays ; 

Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise. 
And let us feel the light of Thee ! 

Vol. XII.— 6. 




We want to do something for Santa Claus," 

Two little children were saying ; 
Let us go and find him, and thank him, be- 

He is always bringing us beautiful things. 
Let us carry him something as nice as he 

They laughed, and they went on playing. 

Oh, he lives away over the mountains of snow," 

Said the fair little maid named Lily, 
And the Northern Lights on his windows glow ; 
But the good Great Bear will show us the 

And will wrap us up in his fur robe gray, 
If we find the journey chilly." 

Let us start in the morning," said Marjorie 
(She was little White Lily's sister); 

' By two o'clock, or at most by three, 
The moon will be rising, and we will go 
With our new red moccasins over the snow ! " 
And Lily said "Yes," and kissed her. 

The children were tired, and they both slept 
sound ; 

But, almost before they knew it, 
They were tiptoeing over the frozen ground, 
Over wide white fields where grew not a tree, — 
Over the crust of the Polar Sea, — 

You never would think they could do it ! 

' Are we almost there, dear Marjorie ? " 

Said the breathless little White Lily; 
■ I am cold and weary as 1 can be ! 
I wish we never had started at all ! " 
And she cuddled under her sister's shawl. 
The air was so very chilly. 




" Oh, yes ; Oh, yes ; we are almost there ! 

Don't you see the North Star shining? 
And here is the house of the good Great Bear ; 
He will surely be kind to us, because 
He is second cousin to Santa Claus ; 

See! he sits at his table, dining." 

So the Great Bear asked the children in, 
And made them sit down at his table ! 
A chain of stars hung under his chin. 
And a jeweled pointer was in his hand. 
By which all the pilgrims to North-Star-Land, 
To keep the straight road are able. 

" Will you show us the way to Santa Claus ? " 

They said, after eating and drinking. 
" Oh, that is against the Christmas laws, 

Which arc strictly obeyed in North-Star- 
Land " ; 

But the Great Bear leaned his head on his 

And sat for a moment, thinking. 

" He hung up his coat here, an hour ago — 
There ! drop down into the pocket ! 
I hear his sledge-bells over the snow ; 
Oh, don't be afraid! he will treat you well." 
They heard a " Halloo ! " and before they 
could tell 

How it was, they were off, like a rocket. 

How the reindeer flew ! how the stars whizzed 
by ! 

But the children so close were hidden. 
They scarcely could open the edge of an eye ; 
They could neither speak, nor wiggle, nor wink. 
They could only breathe very softly, and think 

Of the ride they were taking unbidden. 

At last they arrived at Santa Claus' house. 

And he, as he threw off his jacket, 
Cried, "Wife! did you hear the squeak of a 
mouse ? " 

For the children were friglitencd, and could not 
keep still : 

" Ho ! ho ! Mrs. Santa . look here, if you will ! 
Here's a new-fashioned Christmas packet!" 

So Santa Claus' wife put her spectacles on. 
And came and peeped over his shoulder, 
For she thought that her husband clean daft 
had gone. 

His eyes grew so large in his shiny bald head. 
"Please do not be vexed with us," Marjorie 

And Lily exclaimed, growing bolder: 

" We wanted to see where you live, Santa Claus ! 
To thank you, and bring you a present ; 
But we could not find anything, sir, because — " 
" Why, you 've brought me yourselves, dears, and 
now }-ou must stay. 
And make Mrs. Santa Claus merry and gay ; 
No home without children is pleasant." 




The children, quite startled and sorely afraid, 

A sob and a sigh tried to smother ; 
But good Mrs. Santa Claus came to their aid, 
And said, " Santa, dear, now I can't have them 
stay ! 

Such midgets would only be right in my way; 
So please take them home to their mother ! " 

When the reindeer came, with a jingling din. 

The children were hardly ready ; 
They were watching the Northern Lights be- 
gin ; 

But Santa Claus lifted them into his sleigh, 
And whipped up the reindeer, and whisked away. 
With a chirrup, and "So! be steady!" 

And was n't it fun now and then to stop. 

And eagerly wait and listen 
For Santa Claus, over a chimney-top. 
And ask if the little folks saw him bring 
Their presents inside! — then, ting-a-ling-ling! 

Down, down, where the snow-drifts glisten! 

But, somehow, the two little girls never knew,— 

Neither Marjorie nor White Lily, — 
How they were let down their own roof through, 
How they came to be sleeping side by side, 
In their own little room at the morning-tide, 
When the Christmas dawn broke chilly. 

But there was a package under each head, 

Tied up with a silver label ; 
And " Cakes from Santa Claus' oven," it read 
And their stockings were full of beautiful thingS; 
Such as nobody else but he ever brings, 

Though they call him a myth and a fable. 

And when Marjorie tells of going one night, — 

And wonders that people doubt her, — 
To see Santa Claus, while the stars shone bright, 
White Lily will open her eyes of blue, 
And say, "There's a Mrs. Santa Claus, too; 
Or else I have dreamed about her." 




By Anna Lea Merritt. 

Do YOU remember, dear reader of St. NICHO- 
LAS, your first paint-box — the very first ? Oh, how 
well I remember mine, though it was so many 
years ago ! One summer morning I and my doll 
were standing on a chair to look out of the parlor 
window, when my uncle came by — a merry young 
uncle just home from school. " Come with me to 
Grandma's," said he, "I 've a new paint-box"; 
and with that he lifted me out of the window, and 
I ran along beside him to Grandma's, wondering 
what a paint-box would be. I was a little more than 
three years old, and had never seen paints nor 
noticed pictures, excepting in some toy-books ; and 
in those days toy picture-books were very ugly 
things, with glaring color and careless drawings. 

When we arrived at the dear old house in 
Fourth street, my uncle put me on a high chair 
at the writing-table, in a cjuiet, sunny corner of 
the dining-room. Then he produced the paint- 
box and a large plate to rub the colors on, and 
some nice white paper. Then Uncle showed me 
how to dip a brush in water, and leave a little 
drop on the plate. Then a cake of paint was 
rubbed gently on the plate, just in the drop of 
water ; and presently a beautiful patch of moist 
color would appear on the plate. The cake, care- 
fully dried, was put back in its place in the box. 

When we had every color on the plate, and dear 
Uncle had allowed me to rub some quite by my- 
self, he asked me what pictures I would have, and 
he drew with a sharp outline anything for which 1 
asked, — a little girl going out to walk, a little 
dog running after her, a gentleman on horse- 
back, a horse galloping, a little boy, a house, a 
cow, an elephant. Then I dipped my little brush 
into water, and took a little paint on it, and very 
carefully filled up the outline. The elephant be- 
came brown, the cow red, the house a red house 
with green window-shutters of the old Philadel- 
phia pattern ; the little boy grew very red in the 
face, and black as to his coat ; the horse was blue, 
because there was no other chance to use that 
favorite color; and the little girl and the dog 
were quite artistic and natural. Oh, how exciting 
and how difficult it was ! though the chief diffi- 
culty seemed to be in keeping the colors from 
running together and smearing over the outline. 

When dinner came I did not at all wish to 
stop for food, as it seemed to me that I was 
just beginning to improve. After dinner my uncle 

drew some more outlines, and 1 even learned 
to draw a pretty face, but I could not so well copy 
anything else. 

For many days the paint-box was my greatest in- 
terest and delight. My mother let me have bristol- 
board and paper in abundance, and when I began to 
go to school, by the time 1 was five years old, 1 had 
found that things much more wonderful than any 
I had imagined, could be done — even n\ ith black 

A young artist, Mr. Furness, who painted many 
beautiful portraits before his early death, came to 
my father's house to make a crayon portrait of my 
two little sisters. They were very young children, 
and he told them wonderful fairy tales, so that it was 
their great pleasure to go into the library where 
he was at work. I, too, was allowed to be in the 
room and to watch his drawing. I did not realize 
then how very kind he was. I did not know how 
troublesome it must be to an artist, with two rest- 
less children to draw, to have another child looking 
over his shoulder ; but now I know how patient 
and kind he was, and that the crayon picture 
which I saw grow like magic under his hand was, 
indeed, no ordinary portrait. It was drawn on a 
warm gray paper ; sometimes he used a delicate 
point of soft, black crayon, sometimes he put on 
the palest shadows with a stump (a short, thick 
roll of leather, or paper, cut to a point, and used 
for softening pencil or crayon marks). But what- 
ever Mr. Furness did made the little faces more 
and more like my sisters. The drawing was as 
large as life, and therefore there was room to give 
every feature its exact form; and besides this, the 
expression of the faces was as if they would speak, 
and yet it was done without any colors, and merely 
by copying exactly the shape of every shadow. 

First, Mr. Furness put in the general shadows 
over the whole of the eyes and hair, under the chin, 
nose, and mouth ; then the darkest shadows in the 
nostrils, and under the eyelids ; then the shape of 
the eyes and eyebrows, the shape of the lips ; then 
the more delicate shadows that made the light 
softly melt into the shadows, but how he did it I 
could not discover. To see these shadows well, all 
the windows of the library had been darkened 
except one, so that light and shadow should come 
from one direction only. When 1 had noticed 
everything that Mr. Furness had in the way of 
materials, and watched with wonder the picture 




grow under his hand, I resolved to make a trial. 
But it seemed very bold to attempt to do what he 
had done, — so bold that I wished to try without 
any one knowing about it. I knew it would be 
difficult, and that I could not make my drawing 
beautiful, as his was ; but still I wished to try and 
to hide my effort carefully away, so that no one 
would laugh at me. I had some pennies in my 
money-jug, so I managed, when we were walking 
with our nurse, to get some paper of the right 
kind and some crayon at a little shop that we 
often passed. When my materials were safely in 
the school-room in my own special cupboard, then 
I had to find some one willing to be portrayed. 
There was our dear little sister Trudy, the youngest 
of us all, at that time about two years old ! She 
was always willing to be my pet and to play that 
she was a doll, or to be put into the doll's bed. 
Trudy was generally awake very earh- in the morn- 
ing, and she was quite pleased when I took her out 
of her crib, while nurse was still asleep, and carried 
her to the school-room. She sat on the table and 
was as good and still as a mouse for fear any one 
should hear us, and really I did make a beginning 
at the picture, though it was even more difficult than 
I had imagined. As soon as I heard the servants 

"if he is very LTTILK, UE 


stirring about the house, I hid away my work, 
and we slipped back to bed so quietly that Nurse 
never knew we had been away. We had inany 
of these stolen morning sittings, and Trudy was a 
dear, good little sister, as she has ever been. 
Though she was so tiny, she helped mc all she 
could by being very quiet, and I tried to tell her 
some of the fairy tales that I had heard Mr. Furness 

tell the bigger girls. At last 1 thought the picture 
was as good as I could make it. It did look rather 
like Trudy, though the curls were a little like cork- 
screws, and the shadows were smeary here and 
there, arid would not melt softly into the light as 
they ought to do. It was very disappointing, cer- 
tainly ; but still perhaps it was fit to show to Papa, 
so that he might tell me if I could be taught to do 

Before he came to breakfast, my drawing was 
pinned on the door, and I was very happy to find 
that both Papa and Mamma were cjuite pleased with 
it, and knew at once that it was intended to look like 
Trudy. After a few days I heard that Mr. Furness 
had seen my drawing and that he would permit 
me to go to his studio twice a week for lessons. 
That was a happy winter for me, when I continued 
to learn from my kind friend. He set me to draw 
from casts. A hand was the first study, and then the 
head of the beautiful Clytie. Then the perception 
of beauty came upon me all at once. I longed to 
give my whole life to study it, to portray it. All 
other studies were to me quite unattractive. In 
my mind's eye were ever-changing pictures, which 
some day 1 would paint. 

Mr. Furness soon went to Europe ; and the time 
came when I was sent to a large 
school where I was ashamed to 
be behind in my classes, and it 
was as much as I could do to 
keep a middle place. On half- 
holidays I sometimes made a 
crayon drawing of one of the 
scholars, but never with the 
success that I longed for. All 
the time I used to keep saying 
in my heart, ' ' Some day I shall 
get through with these lessons 
and begin to draw in earnest." 
At last, when I was twenty-one 
years old, I did begin, but that 
was very old to begin in ear- 
nest. Since then I have worked 
constantly. And still I love my 
paint-box better than I did that 
first day, and year by year I 
struggle to do better work. 

Now that 1 have told you how 
I began to paint, I will tell you 
about children who come to my studio to have their 
portraits painted, and how we do it. 

A great many little children come to my studio 
to have their portraits painted. If they are old 
enough to talk and ask questions, they wish to look 
at my easel and at my palette. The easel is a 
sort of standing frame, which has a movable shelf 
to hold the canvas on which the picture is painted, 




and a crank, by turning whicli yiiu can raise or 
lower the shelf. 

Then the palette is a thin mahogany Ijoard with 
a hole for the thumb, so that I may hold it easily 
and a handful of brushes as well. On my palette 
I put fourteen colors, squeezing them out of little 
tin tubes, in which they are put up and sold to 

When the palette is ready and the canvas on the 
easel, I am ready to begin. At first, perhaps during 
all the first sitting, 1 only play with the little child, 
or get his little brother or sister to play with him un- 
til I see some natural and pretty movement that is 
picturesque. I like best to paint two children to- 
gether, because that seems to me the most natural 
way. So soon as I have seen a position that 1 like, 
I persuade baby to sit in a little chair made fast on 
a table — a "throne" we painters call it — high 
enough for me to see his face opposite mine, while I 
stand and walk backward often, to get the right view 
of baby and of the picture. 1 have to keep two things 
in mind : first, to paint the portrait ; secondly, how 
to amuse the baby. If he is very little, we gener- 
ally make believe that I ain a horse. I tie the reins 
around my waist and baby drives me. When I 
wish to see him laugh, I caper about like a very 
wild horse ; sometimes I am an omnibus horse, and 
stop every minute to take up passengers, and when- 
ever we stop I run to my canvas and try to put in 
a good touch. Sometimes, if baby will keep very 
still for two or three ininutes, I reward him by be- 
ing a saddle-horse, and take him on my back for a 
gallop about the studio. All this does not seem 
to leave much time to paint, and that is just the 
difficulty. If I made baby sit in his chair, tired 
and worried, he might look cross, and his Papa and 
Mamina would find my portrait ugly. They would 
say I had not " caught his sweet expression," and 
other people would not ask me to paint their 
children. That would be very bad for me ; there- 
fore, be it ever so difficult to romp and play and 
paint all at once, I have learned that with patience 
it can be done. 

There was one dear little boy in America who 
foutid an ear of red Indian corn in my studio, and 
he was always quite happy for an hour to pick off 
with his tiny fingers one grain at a tiine, until his 
cap was full of corn ; this he took into the street 
to throw to the "chickey birds." I took care to 
have a new ear ready for him whenever he came, 
and he was as quiet as a mouse with it. On page 
90 is a sketch from his portrait. You see he is feed- 
ingpigeons. The pigeons had to cometo my studio, 
too, and they were not much quieter than children, 
for 1 tried to catch their motions as they flew 

The strangest models I c\'er had were a faniil)- 

of rats. You all must know the story in Robert 
Browning's beautiful verses of the " Pied Piper of 
Hamelin,"and how the rats followed the piper into 
the river and all were drowned. Of course he after- 


ward piped away the children, and though I should 
have preferred to paint that scene, I felt that I had 
not the skill ; so I began to paint a picture of the 
piper followed by rats. 

Of course 1 could not paint a rat without see- 
ing one. I found an old gypsy whose face was 
wild and queer, and I painted him as the piper. 
He liked the story much, and did not think it at 
all extraordinary that rats had followed the piper, 
but he felt sure that it was' not the music that 
charnred them. 

"1 know the reason," said he; "the man put 
anise-seed oil on his shoes. Rats will run anywhere 
after that." As the old gypsy knew so much about 
rats, I asked him to bring me two alive, which he did. 
At first I kept them in a cage, and tamed them until 
they would eat from ni)- fingers. They were very 
fond of sugar and candle-ends, biscuits and meat, 
and bird-seed, and for a special treat a drop of attar 




of roses. Cheese they would never touch ! Per- 
haps they had heard how traps are baited with 
it. Finally, when they seemed to have become 
friendly to me, I let one rat out of the cage, for 1 
needed to see him run. AH the rats in my picture 
were running. I had sketched in more than a 
hundred rats, all tearing, and jumping, and run- 
ning, and some beckoning to other swarms of 
rats coming on after them, less distinctly seen. 
When my tame rat was joyfully frisking about, 
I watched his movements, and carefully corrected 
each one of the rats in my painting to make 
them quite natural. I put my tame rat on a 
large table at a safe distance, but 1 did not know 
how rats can spring, and 1 was startled when he 
suddenly jumped upon my shoulder. I caught 
him by the neck and put him on the shelf of my 
easel. Then he ran along my mahl-stick to my 
palette and tasted some paint. Very bad for you, 
Mr. Rat ! I never had such a sitter ! He was 
always taking flying jumps of a few yards, or eat- 
ing unwholesome things, or biting holes in the 
chair-covers, or else sneaking about the corners of 
the studio, where it was very difficult to find him. 
To me he was quite gentle, but I never returned 
his affection ; to tell the truth, he was too ugly. 
When the picture was finished, I took the rats 
to a quiet corner, near a stable, and let them run 
away to take care of themselves. 

Perhaps you think that artists ought to paint 
"out of their heads." No artist who does not 
paint "from life" (as painting from models is 
called) ever gives his pictures a look of real- 
ity. We may be able to paint a marble floor 
from a small piece of marble, or a brocade dress 
from a yard or two of the material ; but even to 
do this we must have made studies of large sur- 
faces of marble when opportunity has offered, 
and we must spend days in studying the folds of 
drapery in a dress worn by a living model before 
the special material of the brocade can be copied 
into it. If we wish to represent any material oi 
substance well, we must at least have a piece of 
it before us, and, as the most important of all 
things wc can paint are the faces of men and 
women and children, it follows that we must em- 
ploy people to pose for us. 

Here in London, where I am writing, there are 
several hundred people whose business it is to sit 
for artists. Some of them, who are particularly 
beautiful, are engaged every day in the year, and 
may earn from a dollar and a half to two dollars 
a day. They must keep still for hours, and often 
stand or kneel in tiresome positions. However, 
the models generally take a great interest in the 
pictures they sit for, and like to do their best for the 
artists who employ them. 

Among the models are some very little children, 
who began to sit when they were mere babies. I 
have often wished that some rich children could 
see how patient these little ones can be, when they 
understand that they are earning money to buy 
food and clothes. I have tried for days to persuade 
a fine little boy, in smart silk stockings and fine 
shoes, to keep lus feet still long enough for me 
to paint them ; but at the end of two minutes 
his feet would skip away with his stockings and 
leave me in despair ! 

When 1 find that a child can not sit quietly 
to have his dress painted, I send for Georgie 
Munn. He is very proud to put on the beautiful 
stockings and shoes. I make a chalk mark on 
the throne where his little feet should go, and he 
will keep carefully on the mark. He has a few 
minutes for rest at intervals during each hour, and a 
long rest at dinner-time ; but he will keep very quiet 
while we are working, and will not move without 
leave. He is a very little boy, so his mother keeps 
her arm around him to steady him, and talks to him 
in a whisper without disturbing me. She teaches 
him to count, or to sing little songs, or to spell. 
Every now and then he tries to guess what there 
will be for dinner. With so good a boy to help 
me, I can paint very quickly ; and when little Mas- 
ter Restless comes ne.xt day to sit for his portrait, 
he is surprised to see the dress quite finished. 

Last summer 1 was at Goodwick, on the coast of 
Wales. One day I had climbed far up a hill among 
wild fields of gorse and heather all golden and pink 
with flowers. Below the great cliffs lay the spark- 
ling sea, and the rocky headlands of the coast, one 
beyond another, blue and faint, with shining bays 
between, stretched away to the north. My hill rose 
still above me, and there on its summit were the re- 
mains of a vast circle of great stones, rudely shaped, 
and placed there at least two thousand years ago 
to serve in the mysterious worship of the Druids. 
A little stone cottage was near them. Two little 
girls suddenly appeared coming up the steep hill- 
side from the sea. They carried great tin cans ; but 
when 1 asked what they had in them, they could 
not speak English nor understand any language but 
the strange and beautiful Welsh, — a language 
spoken in England before Romans, Danes, or 
Normans had set foot in the country, and now only 
remembered in these lonely Welsh hills. Since 
they could not understand, I looked into their cans 
and found them filled with water. The girls had 
evidently gone a mile down the cliff for water 
from the nearest spring, and were taking it to their 
home among the Druid stones. I liked them so 
much, as they stood smiling at me, that another day 
I brought my paints, and when they passed I 
sketched them. This pleased them very much. 

THE gkandchildki:n of l 



P A I X T I N G . 


and they would come with their water-cans and quite a Pegasus, for Charley declared it could fly 

stand among the heather as still as if they were away.* 

being photographed. By degrees 1 learned that Here are two more dear little friends of mine, Eus- 

their father was a sailor in a sailing-ship, and in tace and Percy Loraine. One day, when I had just 

another year would be coming back from South begun this portrait, a beautiful pheasant was sent 

America. to me. The pheasant has feathers like burnished 

Now, 1 must tell you of two English boys whose bronze, and a purple and green throat, — a most 

picture you have on page 89. You will like to see splendid bird, that English gentlemen raise with 

them because they are the grandchildren of the great care and expense in the spring and shoot 

great poet Tennyson. Every child knows "The in the autumn. Eustace wished to hold this bird. 

May Queen," and the lovely story of the " Sleep- and little Percy stood on tiptoes to touch its soft 


ing Beauty," and knows that Tennyson, now Lord 
Tennyson, has long been the great poet of our 
day. These little boys, Alfred and Charles, often 
visit their grandfather in his peaceful country 
home. Lord Tennyson dedicated a collection of 
some of his latest poems to little Alfred in a verse 
beginning — " Golden-haired Ally whose name is 
one with mine. " Alfred has hair of a rich golden 
shade, and Charley has dark eyes and hair like 
silver floss. 1 used to call him moonbeam and Alfred 
sunshine. Alfred loved to listen to stories one after 
another, as fast as they could be read to him. 
Charles liked to invent his stories, and told me 
the wonderful adventures of a sugar pig that 
came to live in his nursery. I think the pig was 

breast, and both boys were sad to see it dead. The 
pheasant was so beautiful, and they looked so gentle 
holding it with pity, that I painted them as you see 
them in the engraving. The father of these chil- 
dren, SirLambton Loraine, is a brave captain in the 
English navy, and you American children must 
hear about him, so that you shall not forget the 
great service he did to some unfortunate Americans. 

It was in the year 1873, when the Cubans were 
in insurrection against Spanish rule. Spanish 
ships were blockading the ports of Cuba to prevent 
the rebels from receiving arms or help from other 
countries. The " Virginius " was an American 
steamer, and had been suspected of running the 
blockade, but this had not been proved. It sailed 

* For the storj' tif " Pegasus," see St. Nicholas for December, 1879. 




from Kingston in Jamai- 
ca, pretending to go to 
Port Limon in Costa 
Rica, and had taken one 
hundred and fifty-five 
passengers on board. 
Four of these were lead- 
ers of the Cuban rebell- 
ion, but the rest were 
peaceable, innocent peo- 
ple, going to Costa Rica 
on business or to join 
their families, and who 
had no wish whatever to 
enter Cuba. 

In spite of his agree- 
ment to land these pas- 
sengers at Costa Rica, 
the captain of the "Vir- 
ginius" contrived to get 
a cargo of arms, and 
then set sail direct for 
Cuba. The Spanish 
ships spied the "Vir- 
ginias " as it neared 
land, chased it into the 
open sea, and captured 
it there, contrary to in- 
ternational law. When 
the " Virginius " was 
taken into Santiago di 
Cuba, the Spanish Gov- 
ernor declared all on 
board to be pirates, and 
had them tried by court- 
martial as fast as it could 
be done. The four rebel 
chiefs were shot first ; 
and then thirty-seven of 
the crew, who were most- 
ly English or United 
States citizens, were bru- 
tally shot to death. The 
court-martial sat all 
night, but, before they 
had time to shoot any 
more of the unfortunate 
people, the news of these 
butcheries reached Ja- 

The English Governor 
immediately protested, 
and ordered the " Ni- 
obe," which was com- 
manded by Sir Lambton 
Loraine, to sail at once 
for Santiago di Cuba. 





The Spaniards were amazed to see the 
" Niobe " steaming full speed into port without 
saluting. Before her anchor touched bottom, 
her brave commander was lowered in his gig, 
and on landing went directly to the governor, 
General Burriel. He was enraged that England 
should interfere. The " Virginius" wasan American 
ship, and he claimed that it was no affair of Eng- 
land. Sir Lambton Loraine replied that, in the 
absence of a United States war-ship, he took the 
responsibility of protecting citizens of the United 
States, and upholding the honorof her flag, and that 
if any more innocent blood were shed he would 
sink whichever of the Spanish men-of-war should 
be nearest to the " Niobe." After that. General 
Burriel began to listen to reason. No more people 
were shot, and finally, when the American ship 
"Juniata" arrived at Santiago di Cuba, eighteen 

days after the last executions, the "Virginius" 
and the surviving prisoners were surrendered to her 
in the presence of the " Niobe." All through the 
LInited States, from east to west, people were full 
of enthusiasm for the brave English commander, 
and for the friendly aid of England. 1 am sure you 
will like to see these very little boys, whose father 
you must not forget. 

Now, boys and girls, I must stop talking, and 
wish you a merry Christmas. I wish that on this 
day you could see some of the glorious paintings 
which ancient artists, especially in Italy, have 
left us. They never wearied of painting the little 
Jesus in his Mother's arms, and sometimes with 
angels or saints or the wise men of the East 
coming to adore him, and they knew how to give 
these pictures the peace and beauty of another 

[Note. — The children's portraits in this article are engraved from photographs of the original paintings by Mrs. Anna Lea Merritt, 
furnisheti by the artist with the kind consent of the Honorable Lionel Tennyson, and of Sir Lambton Loraine. — Ed.] 


By H. H. 

From nine in the morning till six at night - 
A weary march for the strongest feet — 

She trudges along, a pitiful sight, 

To be seen every day in the city street. 

Oh, how do you think she feels when she sees. 
In the pleasant parks on a sunny day. 

The rows of nurses, all taking their ease. 

With children who 've nothing to do but play? 

She is tired, and hungry, and cold and wet ; ' 

She trembles with wretchedness where she stands ; 
But she knows if she falters a moment, she '11 get 

A cruel, hard blow from the cruel hands. 

Her tambourine feels as heavy as lead ; 

She wearily shifts it from side to side ; ' 
Her poor little knuckles are bruised and red ; 

Her pale, sunken eyes show how much she has 

Who have nothing to do but play!" — The 
thought ! 

She can not imagine it, if she tries ; 
Nor how such wonderful playthings are bought, — 
The dolls that can walk and open their eyes! 

Who have nothing to do but play ! " It seems 
To her that such children in Heaven live. 

Not all her wildest, most beautiful dreams 
A happiness greater than that could give. 

But she must keep step to the gayest tunes, O children, who 've nothing to do but play. 

With merry, quick flings of her tambourine; And are always happy, do not forget 

And watch for the crowds, in the late afternoons. The poor little children who work all day, 

— How soon they forget the sad face they have seen ! And are tired and hungry and cold and wet! 





By Charles Carryl. 

Chapter I. 


It happened one Christmas eve, when Davy was 
about eight years old, and this is the way it came 

That particular Christmas eve was a snowy one 
and a blowy one, and one generally to be re- 
membered. In the city, where Davy lived, the 
storm played all manner of pranks, swooping down 
upon unwary old gentlemen and turning their um- 
brellas wrong side out, and sometimes blowing 
their hats quite out of sight. And in the country, 
where Davy had come to pass Christmas with his 
dear old grandmother, things were not much better ; 
but here people were very wise about the weather, 
and staid indoors, huddled around great blazing 
wood fires ; and the storm, finding no live game, 
buried up the roads and the fences, and such small- 
fry of houses ascouldrcadily be put out of sight, and 
howled and roared over the fields and through the 
trees in a fashion not to be forgotten. 

Davy, being of the opinion that a snow-storm 

was a thing not to be wasted, had been out w-ith 
his sled, trying to have a little fun with the weather; 
but presently, discovering that this particular storm 
was not friendly to little boys, he had retreated 
into the house, and having put his hat and his 
high shoes and his mittens by the kitchen fire to 
dry, he began to find his time hang heavily on his 
hands. He had wandered idly all over the house, 
and had tried how cold his nose could be made by 
holding it against the window-panes, and, I am 
sorry to say, had even been sliding down the bal- 
usters and teasing the cat ; and at last, as evening 
was coming on, had curled himself up in the big 
easy-chair facing the fire, and had begun to read 
once more about the marvelous things that hap- 
pened to little Alice in Wonderland. Then, as it 
grew darker, he laid aside the book and sat 
watching the blazing logs and listening to the 
solemn ticking of the high Dutch clock against 
the wall. 

Then there stole in at the door a delicious odor 
of dinner cooking down-stairs — an odor so sug- 
gestive of roast chickens and baked potatoes and 
gravy and pie as to make any little boy's mouth 




water ; and presently Davy began softly telling 
himself what he would choose for his dinner. He 
had quite finished fancying the first part of his 
feast and was just coming, in his mind, to an extra- 
large slice of apple-pie well browned (staring 
meanwhile very hard at one of the brass knobs of 
the andirons to keep his thoughts from wandering), 
when he suddenly discovered a little man perched 
upon that identical knob and smiling at him with 
all his might. 

This little man was a very curious-looking per- 
son indeed. He was only about a foot high, but 
his head was as big as a cocoanut, and he had 
great bulging eyes, like a frog, and a ridiculous 
turned-up nose. His legs were as slender as 
spindles, and he had long-pointed toes to his shoes, 
or rather to his stockings, or, for that matter, to his 
trousers, — for they were all of a piece — and bright 
scarlet in color, as were also his little coat and his 
high-pointed hat and a queer little cloak that hung 
over his shoulder. His mouth was so wide that 
when he smiled it seemed to go quite behind his 
ears, and there was no way of knowing where the 
smile ended, except by looking at it from behind — 
which Davy could n't do without getting into the 

Now, there 's no use in denying that Davy was 
frightened. The fact is, he was frightened almost 
out of his wits, particularly when he saw that the 
little man, still smiling furiously, was carefully 
picking the hottest and reddest embers out of the 
fire, and, after cracking them like nuts with his 
teeth, eating them with great relish. Davy watched 
this alarming meal, expecting every moment to see 
the little man burst into a blaze and disappear, but 
he finished his coals in safety, and then nodding 
cheerfully at Davy, said : 

" I know you ! " 

" Do you ? " said Davy faintly. 

" Oh, yes ! " said the little man. " I know you 
perfectly well. You are the little boy who does n't 
believe in fairies, nor in giants, nor in goblins, 
nor in anything the story-books tell you." 

Now, the truth was that Davy, having never met 
any giants when he was out walking, nor seen any 
fairies peeping out of the bushes, nor found any 
goblins about the house, had come to believe that 
all these kinds of people were purely imaginary 
beings, so that now he could do nothing but stare at 
the little man in a shamefaced sort of way and 
wonder what was coming next. 

" Now all that, — " said the little man, shaking 
his finger at him in a reproving way, "all that is 
very foolish and very wrong. I 'm a goblin my- 
self, — a hob-goblin — and I've come to take you 
on a Believing Voyage." 

" Oh, if you please, I can't go '■ " cried Davy, in 

great alarm at this proposal, "I can't, indeed. I 
have n't permission." 

"Rubbish!" said the Goblin. "Ask the 

Now, the Colonel was nothing more nor less than 
a silly-looking little man made of lead that stood 
on the mantel-shelf holding a clock in his arms. 
The clock never went, but, for that matter, the 
Colonel never went either, for he had been stand- 
ing stock-still for years, and it seemed perfectly 
ridiculous to ask Aim anything about going 
anywhere, so Davy felt quite safe in looking 
up at him and asking permission to go on the 
Beheving Voyage. To Tiis dismay the Colonel 
nodded his head and cried out in a little cracked 
voice : 

" Why, certainly ! " 

At this, the Goblin jumped down off the knob 
of the andiron, and skipping briskly across the 
room to the big Dutch clock, rapped sharply on 
the front of the case with his knuckles, when to 
Davy's amazement the great thing fell over on its 
face upon the floor as softly as if it had been a 
feather bed. Davy now saw that instead of being 
full of weights and brass wheels and curious works, 
as he had always supposed, the clock was really a 
sort of boat with a wide seat at each end ; but be- 
fore he had time to make any further discoveries, 
the Goblin, who had vanished for a moment, sud- 
denly re-appeared, carrying two large sponge-cakes 
in his arms. Now, Davy was perfectly sure that he 
had seen his grandmother putting those very 
sponge-cakes into the oven to bake, but before he 
could utter a word of remonstrance the Goblin 
clapped one into each seat, and scrambling into 
the clock sat down upon the smaller one, merely 
remarking : 

"They make prime cushions, you know." 

For a moment, Davy had a wild idea of rushing 
out of the room and calling for help ; but the Gob- 
lin seemed so pleased with the arrangements he 
had made and, moreover, was smiling so good- 
naturedly that the little boy thought better of it, 
and after a moment's hesitation climbed into the 
clock and took his seat upon the other cake. It 
was as warm and springy and fragrant as a day 
in May. Then there was a whizzing sound, like 
a lot of wheels spinning around, and the clock 
rose from the floor and made a great swoop toward 
the window. 

" 1 '11 steer," shouted the Goblin, " and do you 
look out sharp for light-houses ! " 

Davy had just time to notice that the Colonel 
was hastily scrambling down from the mantel-shelf 
with his beloved time-piece in his arms, when they, 
seated in the long Dutch clock, dashed through 
the window and out nito the night. 




Chapter II. 


The first thoutjht that came into Davy's mind 
when he found himself out-of-doors was that he 
had started off on his journey without his hat, and 
he was therefore exceedingly pleased to find that 
it had stopped snowing and that the air was quite 
still and delightfully balmy and soft. The moon 
was shining brightly, and as he looked back at 
the house he was surprised to see that the window 
through which they had come, and which he was 

Sure enough, at this moment the Colonel's head 
appeared through the flaps. The clock was still 
in his arms, and he seemed to be having a great 
deal of trouble in getting it through, and his head 
kept coming into view and then disappearing again 
behind the flaps in so ridiculous a manner that 
Davy shouted with laughter, and the Goblin smiled 
harder than ever. Suddenly the poor little man 
made a desperate plunge and had almost made 
his way out when the flaps shut to with a loud 
snap and caught him about the waist. In his 
efforts to free himself, he dropped his clock to the 
ground outside, when it burstwith a loud explosion 
and the house instantly disappeared. 

quite sure had always been a straight-up-and-down, 
old-fashioned window, was now a round aftair with 
flaps running to a point in the center, like the 
holes the harlequin jumps through in the pan- 

" How did that window ever get changed into a 
round hole ? " he asked the Goblin, pointing to it 
in great astonishment. 

" Oh," said the Goblin, carelessly, " that 's one 
of the circular singumstances that happen on a 
believing voyage. It 's nothing to what you '11 see 
before we come back again. Ah ! " he added, 
" there comes the Colonel ! " 

This was so unexpected and seemed so serious 
a matter that Davy was much distressed, won- 
dering what had become of his dear old grand- 
mother and ^Irs. Frump, the cook, and Mary 
Farina, the housemaid, and Solomon, the cat. 
However, before he had time to make any in- 
quiries of the Goblin, his grandmother came drop- 
ping down through the air in her rocking-chair. 
She was quietly knitting, and her chair was gently 
rocking as she went by. Next came Mrs. Frump 
with her apron quite full of kettles and pots, and 
then Mary Farina, sitting on a step-ladder with 
the coal-scuttle in her lap. Solomon was nowhere 




to be seen. Davy, looking over the side of the 
clock, saw them disappear, one after the other, in 
a large tree on the lawn ; and the Goblin informed 

\ ; ■ 


him that they had fallen into the kitchen of a 
witch-hazel tree and would be well taken care of 
Indeed, as the clock sailed over the tree, Davy 
saw that the trunk of it was hollow and that a 
bright light was shining far under-ground ; and to 
make the matter quite sure, a smell of cooking was 
coming up through the hole. On one of the top- 
most boughs of the tree was a nest with two spar- 
rows in it, and he was much astonished at discov- 
ering that they were lying side by side, fast asleep, 
with one of his mittens spread over them for a 

" I suppose my shoes are somewhere about," he 
said, sadly. '■ Perhaps the scjuirrels are filling 
them with nuts." 

" You 're quite right," replied the Goblin, cheer- 
fully ; "and there's a rabbit over by the hedge 
putting dried leaves into your hat; I rather fancy 
he 's about moving into it for the winter." 

Davy was about to complain against such liber- 
ties being taken with his property, when the clock 
began rolling over in the air, and he had just time 
to grasp the sides of it to keep himself from fall- 
ing out. 

"Don't be afraid !" cried the Goblin, "she's 
only rolling a little," and as he said this, the clock 
steadied itself and sailed serenely away past the 
spire of the village church and off over the fields. 

Davy now noticed that the Goblin was glowing 
with a bright, rosy light, as though a number of 

candles were burning in his stomach and shining 
out through his scarlet clothes. 

"That's the coals he had for his supper," 
thought Davy ; but as the Goblin continued to 
smile complacently and seemed to be feeling quite 
comfortable, he did not venture to ask any ques- 
tions, and went on with his thoughts. " I suppose 
he '11 soon have smoke coming out of his nose, as 
if he were a stove. If it were a cold night I 'd ask 
him to come and sit in my lap. I think he must 
be as warm as a piece of toast ! " and the little boy 
was laughing softly to himself over this conceit, 
when the Goblin, who had been staring intently at 
the sky, suddenly ducked his head and cried 
"Barkers!" — and the next instant a shower of 
little blue woolly balls came tumbling into the 
clock. To Davy's alarm they proved to be alive, 
and immediately began scrambling about in all 
directions, and yelping so ferociously that he 
climbed up on his cake in dismay, while the Goblin, 
hastily pulling a large magnifying-glass out of his 
hat, began attentively examining these strange 

" Bless me ! " cried the Goblin, turning very 
pale, " they 're sky-terriers. The dog-star must 
have turned upside-down." 

"What shall we do ?" said Davy, feeling that 
this was a very bad state of affairs. 


"The first thing to do," said the Goblin, " is to 
get away from these fellows before the solar 
sisters come after them. Here, jump into my 
hat ! " 

So many wonderful things had happened already 
that this seemed to Davy quite a natural and 
proper thing to do, and as the Goblin had already 



seated himself upon the brim, he took his place 
opposite to him witliout hesitation. As they sailed 
away from the clock, it cjuietly rolled over once, 
spilling out the sponge-cakes and all the little dogs, 
and was then wafted off, gently rocking from side 
to side as it went. 

Davy was much surprised at finding that the hat 
was as large as a clothes-hamper, with plenty of 
room for him to swing his legs about in the crown. 
It proved, however, to be a very unpleasant thing 
to travel in. It spun around like a top as it sailed 
through the air, until Uavy began to feel uncom- 
fortably dizzy, and the Goblin himself seemed to 
be far from well. He had stopped smiling, and 
the rosy light had all faded away, as though the 
candles inside of him had gone out. His clothes, 
too, had changed from bright scarlet to a dull ashen 
color, and he sat stupidly upon the brim of the 
hat as if he were going to sleep. 

" If he goes to sleep, he will certainly fall over- 
board," thought Davy; and with a view to rousing 
the Goblin, he ventured to remark, " I had no 
idea your hat was so big." 

"I can make it any size I please, from a thimble 
to a sentry-box," said the Goblin. " And speaking 

of sentry-boxes " here he stopped and looked 

more stupid than ever. 

" I verily believe he 's absent-minded," said 
Davy to himself. 

" I 'm worse than that," said the Goblin, as if 
Davy had spoken aloud. " I 'm absent-bodied," 
and with these words he fell out of the hat and 
instantly disappeared. Davy peered anxiously 
over the edge of the brim, but the Goblin was 
nowhere to be seen, and the little boy found him- 
self quite alone. 

Strange-looking birds now began to swoop up 
and chuckle at him, and others flew around him. as 
the hat spun along through the air, gravely staring 
him in the face for a while, and then sailed away, 
sadly bleating like sheep. Then a great creature 
with rumpled feathers perched upon the brim of 
the hat where the Goblin had been sitting, and 
after solemnly gazing at him for a few moments, 
softly murmured, " I 'm a Cockalorum," and flew 
heavily away. All this was very sad and distress- 
ing, and Davy was mournfully wondering what 
would happen to him next, when it suddenly struck 
him that his legs were feeling very cold, and look- 
ing down at them he discovered to his great alarm 
that the crown of the Goblin's hat had entirely 
disappeared, leaving nothing but the brim upon 
which he was sitting. He hurriedly examined 
this and found that the hat was really nothing but 
an enormous skein of wool, which was rapidlv 
unwinding as it spun along. Indeed, the brim 
was disappearing at such a rate that he had hardly 

Vol. XII.— 7. 

made this alarming discovery before the end of 
the skein was whisked away and he found himself 
falling through the air. 

He was on the point of screaming out in his 
terror, when he discovered that he was falling very 

**i'm a cockalorum," he softly mlrmcred. 

slowly and gently swaying from side to side, like a 
toy-balloon. The next moment he struck some- 
thing hard, which gave way with a sound like 
breaking glass and let him through, and he had 
just time to notice that the air had suddenly be- 
come deliciously scented with vanilla, when he fell 
crashing into the branches of a large tree. 

Chapter III. 


The bough upon which Davy had fallen bent far 
down with his weight, then sprang back, then bent 
again, and in this way fell into a sort of delightful 
up-and-down dipping motion, which he found very 
soothing and agreeable. Indeed, he was so pleased 
and comforted at finding himself near the ground 
once more that he lay back in a crotch between 
two branches, enjoying the rocking of the bough 
and lazily wondering what had become of the 
Goblin, and whether this was the end of the 
Believing Voyage, and a great many other things, 
until he chanced to wonder where he was. Then 
he sat up on the branch in great astonishment, for 
he saw that the tree was in full leaf and loaded 
with plums, and it flashed across his mind that the 
winter had disappeared very suddenly, and that 
he had fallen into a place where it was broad 

The plum-tree was the most beautiful and won- 
derful thing he had ever seen, for the leaves were 




perfectly white, and the plums, which looked 
extremely delicious, were of every imaginable 

Now, it immediately occurred to Davy that he 
had never in his whole life had all the plums he 
wanted at any one time. Here was a rare chance 
for a feast, and he carefully selected the largest 
and most luscious-looking plum he could find, to 
begin with. To his disappointment it proved to 
be quite hard and as solid and heavy as a stone. 
He was looking at it in great perplexity, and punch- 
ing it with his thumbs in the hope of finding 
a soft place in it, when he heard a rustling 
sound among the leaves, and looking up, he saw 
the Cockalorum perched upon the bough beside 
him. It was gazing sadly at the plum, and its 
feathers were more rumpled than ever. Presently 
it gave a long sigh and said, in its low, murmuring 
voice : " Perhaps it 's a sugar-plum," and then 
flew clumsily away as before. 

" Perhaps it is ! " exclaimed Davy joyfully, tak- 
ing a great bite of the plum. To his surprise and 
disgust, he found his mouth full of very bad-tasting 
soap, and at the same moment the white leaves of 
the plum-tree suddenly turned over and showed 
the words "April Fool" printed very distinctly 
on their under sides. To make the matter worse, 
the Cockalorum came back and flew slowly around 
the branches, laughing softly to itself with a sort 
of a chuckling sound, until Davy, almost crying 
with disappointment and mortification, scrambled 
down from the tree to the ground. 

He found himself in a large garden planted with 
plum-trees, like the one he had fallen into, and with 
walks winding about among them in every direc- 
tion. These walks were beautifully paved with 
sugar-almonds and bordered by long rows of many- 
colored motto-papers neatly planted in the ground. 
He was too much distressed, however, by what 
had happened in the plum-tree to be interested or 
pleased with this discovery, and was about walking 
away along one of the paths in the hope of finding 
his way out of the garden, when he suddenly 
caught sight of a small figure standing a little dis- 
tance from him. 

He was the strangest-looking creature Davy had 
ever seen, not even excepting the Goblin. In the 
first place, he was As flat as a pancake, and about 
as thick as one ; and in the second place, he was 
so transparent that Davy could see through his 
head and his arms and his legs almost as clearly 
as though he had been made of glass. This was 
so surprising in itself that when Davy presently dis- 
covered that he was made of beautiful, clear lemon- 
candy, it seemed the most natural thing in the 
world, as explaining his transparency. He was 
neatly dressed in a sort of tunic of writing-paper. 

with a cocked hat of the same material, and he had 
under his arm a large book with the words " HOLE- 
KEEPER's Vacuum " printed on the cover. This 
curious-looking creature was standing before an 

"'that was the skv-light,' shrieked the hole-keeper," 

extremely high wall with his back to Davy, intently 
watching a large hole in the wall about afoot from 
the ground. There was nothing extraordinary 
about the appearance of the hole (except that the 
lower edge of it was curiously tied in a large bow- 
knot like a cravat), but Da\y watched it carefully 
for a few moments, thinking that perhaps some- 
thing marvelous would come out of it. Nothing 
appeared, however, and Davy, walking up close 
behind the candy man, said very politely, " If you 

please, sir, I dropped in here " 

Before he could finish the sentence, the Hole- 
keeper said snappishly, " Well, drop out again — 
quick ! " 

" But," pleaded Davy, " you can't drop out of 
a place, you know, unless the place should happen 
to turn upside down." 

"1 doii'/ know anything about it," replied the 
Hole-keeper, without moving. '' I never saw any- 
thing drop — e.xcept once. Then I saw a gum- 
drop. Are you a gum ? " he added, suddenly 
turning around and staring at Davy. 

" Of course I 'm not," said Davy, indignantly. 
"If you'll only listen to me, you'll understand 
exactly how it happened." 

"Well, go on," said the Hole-keeper, im- 
patiently, " and don't be tiresome." 

" I fell down ever so far," said Davy, beginning 
his story over again, " and at last 1 broke through 
something " 

" That was the sky-light ! " shrieked the Hole- 




keeper, dashing his book upon the ground in a 
fury. " That was the barley-sugar sky-hght, and 
I shall certainly be boiled ! " 

This was such a shocking idea that Uavy stood 
speechless, staring at the Hole-keeper, who rushed 
to and fro in a convulsion of distress. 

" Now, see here," said the Hole-keeper, at 
length, coming up to him and speaking in a low, 
trembling voice. " This must be a private secret 
between us. Do you solemsy promilse ? " 

" I prolemse," said Davy, earnestly. This was n't 
at all what he meant to say, and it sounded very 
ridiculous ; but somehow the words would 7Ct come 
straight. The Hole-keeper, however, seemed per- 
fectly satisfied, and picking up his book, said: 
"Well, just wait till 1 can't find your name," and 
began hurriedly turning over the leaves. 

Davy saw, to his astonishment, that there was 
nothing whatever in the book, all the leaves being 
perfectly blank, and he could n't help saying, 
rather contemptuously : 

" How do you expect to find my name in tliat 
book? There's nothing in it." 

"Ah! that's just it, you see," said the Hole- 
keeper, exultingly ; 
"I look in it for the 
names that ought 
to be out of it. It 's 
■ the completest sys- 
tem that ever was 
invented. Oh ! here 
you are n't ! " he 
added, staring with 
great satisfaction at 
one of the blank 
pages. "Yourname 
is Rupsy Frimbles." 

" It 's nothing of 
the sort," said Da- 
vy, indignantly. 

" Tut ! Tut ! " 
said the Hole-keep- 
er. " Don't stop to 
contradict or you '11 
be too late ;" and 
Davy felt himself 
gently lifted off his 

feet and pushed head-foremost into the hole. It 
was quite dark and rather sticky, and smelt strongly 
of burnt sugar, and Davy had a most unpleasant 
time of it crawling through on his hands and knees. 
To add to his distress, when he came out at the 
further end, instead of being, as he had hoped, in 
the open country, he found himself in a large room 
fairly swarming with creatures ver\' like the Hole- 
keeper in appearance, but somewhat darker and 
denser in tlie way of complexion. The instant 

Davy came out of the hole, a harsh voice called 
out : 

"Bring Frungles this way," and the crowd 
gathered around him and began to rudely hustle 
him across the room. 

" That 's not my name ! " cried Davy, struggling 
desperately to free himself. " It is n't even the 
name I came in with ! " 

" Tut ! Tut ! " said a trembling voice near him, 
and Davy caught sight of the Hole-keeper, also 
struggling in the midst of the crowd with his great 
book hugged tightly to his breast. The next 
moment he found himself before a low platform 
on which a crowned figure was sitting in a gor- 
geous tin chair, holding in his hand a long white 
wand with red lines running screw-wise around it, 
like a barber's pole. 

"Who broke the barley-sugar sky-Hght ? " said 
the figure, in a terrible voice. 

The Hole-keeper began fumbling at the leaves 
of his book in great agitation, when the king, point- 
ing at him with his wand, roared furiously: "Boil 
him, at all events ! " 

" Tut ! Tut ! your majesty " began the Hole- 


keeper confusedly, with his stiff little tunic fairly 
rustling with fright ; but before he could utter an- 
other word he was dragged awa)-, screaming with 

'"Don't you go with them!" shouted Daw, 
made really desperate by the Hole-keeper's 
danger. " They 're nothing but a lot of molasses 

canay ! 

At this the king gave a frit 
aiming a furious blow at Dav 

htful shriek, and 
• with his wand, 


rolled off the platform into the midst of the strug- 
gling crowd. The wand broke into a hundred 
pieces, and the air was instantly filled with a chok- 
ing odor of peppermint ; then everything was 
wrapped in darkness, and Davy felt himself being 
whirled along, heels over head, through the air. 
Then there came a confused sound of bells and 
voices, and he found himself 
running rapidly down a long 
street with the Goblin at his side. 

Chapter IV. 


Bells were pealing and toll- 
ing in all directions, and the air 
was filled with the sound of dis- 
tant shouts and cries. 

"What were they?" asked 
Davy, breathlessly. 

" Butterscotchmcn," said the 

"And what makes you that 
color ? " said Davy, suddenly 
noticing that the Goblin had 
changed his color to a beautiful 

"Trouble and worry," said the Goblin. "I 
always get blue when the Butterscotchmen are 
after me." 

"Are they coming after us now? " inquired Davy 
in great alarm. 

" Of course they are," said the Goblin. "But 
the best of it is, they can't run till they get warm, 
and they can't get warm without running, you 
see. But the worst of it is that uv can't stop with- 
out sticking fast." he added, anxiously. "We 
must keep it up until we get to the Amuserum." 

" What 's that? " said Davy. 

"It's a place they have to amuse themselves 
with," said the Goblin, — "curiosities, and all that 
sort of thing, you know. By the way, how much 
money have you ? We have to pay to get in." 

Davy began to feel in his pockets (which is a 
very difficult thing to do when you 're running 
fast) and found, to his astonishment, that they 
were completely filled with a most extraordinary 
lot of rubbish. First, he pulled out what seemed 
to be an iron ball, but it proved to be a hard-boiled 
egg, without the shell, stuck full of small tacks. 
Then came two slices of toast firmly tied together 
with a green cord. Then came a curious little 
glass jar filled with large flies. As Davy took this 
out of his pocket, the cork came out with a loud 
" pop ! " and the flies flew away in all directions. 
Then came, one after another, a tart filled with 

gravel, two chicken bones, a bird'snest with some 
pieces of brown soap in it, some mustard in a pill- 
box and a cake of beeswax stuck full of caraway 
seeds. Davy remembered afterward that as he 
threw these things away they arranged themselves 
in a long ro'v on the curb-stone of the street. The 
Goblin looked on with great interest as Davy fished 

them up out of his pockets, and finally said, envi- 
ously : " That 's a splendid collection; where did 
they all come from ? " 

"1 'm sure / don't know," said Davy, in great 

"And I 'm sure / don't know," repeated the 
Goblin. "What else is there ? " 

Davy felt about in his pockets again and found 
what seemed to be a piece of money. On taking 
it out, however, he was mortified to find that it 
was nothing but an old button; but the Goblin ex- 
claimed in a tone of great satisfaction, "Ah! hold 
on to that ! " and ran on faster than ever. 

The sound of the distant voices had grown 
fainter and fainter still, and Davy was just hoping 
that their long run was almost over, when the street 
came abruptly to an end at a brick wall, over the 
top of which he could see the branches of trees. 
There \\ as a small round hole in the wall with the 
words "Pay Here" printed above it, and the 
Goblin whispered to Davy to hand in the button 
through this hole. Davy did so, feehng very much 
ashamed of himself, when to his surprise instead 
of receiving tickets in return, he heard a loud ex- 
clamation behind the wall, followed by a confused 
sound of scuffling, and the hole suddenly disap- 
peared. The next moment, a little bell tinkled 
and the wall rose slowly before them like a cur- 
tain, carrying the trees with it, apparently, and he 


1884. I 



and the Goblin were left standing in a large open 
space paved with stone. 

Davy was exceedingly alarmed at seeing a dense 
mass of Butterscotclimen in the center of the 
square, pushing and crowding one another in a very 
quarrelsome manner, and chattering like a flock of 
magpies, and he was just about to propose a hasty 
retreat, when a figure came hurrying through the 
square, carrying on a pole a large placard bearing 
the words : 


At the sight of these words, the mob set up a 
terrific shout, and began streaming out of the 
square after the pole-bearer, like a flock of sheep, 
jostling and shoving one another as they went, and 
leaving Davy and the Goblin quite alone. 

" I verily believe they 're gone to look at my 
button," cried Davy, beginning to laugh in spite of 
his fears. "They called me Frungles, you know." 

"That's rather a nice name," said the Goblin, 
who had begun smiling again. " It 's better than 
Snubgraddle, at all events. Let 's have a look at 
the curiosities ;" and here he walked 
boldly into the center of the square. 

Davy followed close at his heels, 
and found to his astonishment and 
disappointment that the curiosi- 
ties were simply the things that 
he had fished out of his pockets 
but a few minutes before, placed on 
little pedestals and carefully pro- 
tected by transparent sugar shades. 
He was on the point of laughing 
outright at this ridiculous exhibi- 
tion, when he saw that the Goblin 
had taken a large telescope out of 
his pocket and was examining the 
different objects with the closest 
attention, and muttering to him- 
self, "Wonderful! wonderful !" as 
if he had never seen anything like them before. 

"Pooh!" said Davy, contemptuously. "The 
only wonderful thing about them is how they ever 
came here." 

At this remark the Goblin turned his telescope 
toward Davy and uttered a faint cry of surprise ; and 
Davy, peering anxiously through the large end, 
saw him suddenly shrink to the size of a small 
beetle and then disappear altogether. Davy has- 
tily reached out with his hands to grasp the tele- 
scope ; but it, too, disappeared. 

The next moment he felt something spring upon 
his back. Before he could cry out in his terror, a 
head was thrust forward o\'er his shoulder, and 

he found the Goblin, who was now of a bright 
purple color, staring him in the face and laughing 
with all his might. 

Chapter V. 


"Goblin," said Davy, very seriously, as the 
little man jumped down from off his back, " if yoti 
are going to play such tricks as t/ia/ upon me, I 
should like to go home at once." 

" Where 's the harm?" said the Goblin, sitting 
down on the grass with his back against a wall and 
smiling contentedly. 

" The harm is that I was frightened," said 
Davy, with great indignation. But as he spoke, 
a loud rumbling noise like distant thunder came 
from behind the wall against which the Goblin 
was leaning, followed by a tremendous sneeze that 
fairly shook the ground. 

"What 's that?" whispered Davy to the Gob- 
lin, in great alarm. 

"It's only Badorful," said the Goblin, laugh- 
ing. "He's always snoring and waking himself 
up, and 1 suppose it 's sleeping on the ground that 

hi; goblik tlrned his telescope toward daw. 

makes him sneeze. Let 's have a look at him," 
and the Goblin led the way along the wall to a 
large grating. 

Davy looked through the grating and was much 
alarmed at seeing a giant, at least twenty feet in 
height, sitting on the ground, with his legs 
crossed under him like a tailor. He was dressed 
in a shabby suit of red velveteen, with a great 
leathern belt about his waist and enormous boots, 
and Davy thought he looked terribly ferocious. 
On the grass beside him lay a huge club, thickly 
studded at one end with great iron knobs ; but 
Davy noticed to his great relief that some little 
creeping vines were twining themselves among 





these knobs, and that moss was growing thickly 
upon one side of the club itself, as though it had 
been lying there untouched for a long time. 

The giant was talking to himself in a low tone, 
and, after listening attentively at the grating for a 
moment, the Goblin shrieked ; 

" He 's making poetry ! " and throwing himself 
upon the ground kicked up his heels in a perfect 
ecstasy of delight. 

" Oh, hush, hush ! " cried Dav)- in terror. 
" Suppose he hears you ! " 

"Hears me!" said the Goblin, discontinuing 
his kicking and looking very much surprised. 
"What if he does?" 

" Well, you know, he might not like being 
laughed at," said Davy, anxiously. 

" There 's something in that," said the Goblin, 
staring reflectively at the grounds 

"And, you see," continued Davy, "a giant who 
does n't like what 's going on must be a dreadful 

" Oh ! there 's no fear of /;/;«," said the Goblin, 
contemptuously, motioning with his head toward 
the giant. "He's too old. Why, I must have 
known him, off and on, for nearly two hundred 
years. Come in and see him." 

"Will he do anything?" said Davy, anxiously. 

"Bless you, no!" said the Goblin. "He's a 
perfect old kitten " ; and with these words he pushed 
open the grating and passed through with Davy 

following tremblingly at his heels. Badorful looked 
up with a feeble smile, and merely said, "Just 
listen to this " : 

My age is three hundred and seventy-two. 
And I think, with the deepest regret, 

How I used to pick up a)id voraciously chew 
The dear little boys whom I met. 

I '71c eaten them raw in their holiday suits, 

I 'I'C eaten them curried with rice, 
I ^ve eaten them baked in their jackets and boots. 

And found them exceedingly nice. 

But now that my jaws are too weak for such fare, 

I think it excessively rude 
To do such a thing, when I ';« quite well aware 

Little boys do not like to be chewed. 

.And so I co)itcntedly live upon eels. 

And try to do nothing amiss. 
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals 

In innocent slumber — like this. 

Here Badorful rolled over upon his side, and 
was instantly fast asleep. 

" You see," said the Goblin, picking up a large 
stone and thumping with it upon the giant's head, 
" you see, he 's quite weak here. Otherwise, con- 
sidering his age, he 's a very capable giant." 

At this moment a farmer with bright red hair 




thrust his head in at the grating, and calHng out, 
"Look out, there!" disappeared again. Davy 
and the GobUn ruslied out and were just in 
time to see something go by like a flash with 
a crowd of people, armed with pitchforks, in 
hot pursuit. Davy and the Goblin were just 
setting off on a run to join in the chase, when 
a voice said, "Ahem!" and looking up, they 
saw Badorful staring at them over the top of the 

" How does this strike you ?" he said, addressing 
himself to Davy : 

Although 1 am a giatit 0/ tlic cxJiibitiuii sisc, 
I been iiiciiv educated^ and I notice- loitJi sur- 

Thai the simplest rules of etiquette you don't pre- 
tend to keep, 

For you skurry off to races loltile a gentleman 's 

Don't I'eply that I laas drowsy, for my nap was 
but a kind 

Of dramatic illustration of a peaceful frame of 
mind ; 

And you really might have waited till I woke 

again, instead 
Of indelicately pounding, with a stone, upon my 


Very probably you 'II argue that our views do 
not agree, — 

/ 've often found that little boys have disagreed 
with me; — 

Bui I 'm properly entitled, on the compensation 

To three times as much politeness as an ordinary 

( To be c 

Davy was greatly distressed at having these 
severe remarks addressed to him. 

" If you please, sir," he said earnestly, " 1 did n't 
pound you." 

At this the giant glared savagely at tlie (Joblin 
and continued : 

My remarks have been directed at the one who, 
I supposed 

Had been violentlv thumping i»i my person while 
I dozed : 

By a simple calculation you will find that there 
is due 

Just six times as much politeness from a little 
chap like you. 

"Oh! you make me ill !" said the Goblin, 
flippantly. " Go to sleep." 

Badorful stared at him for a moment, and 
then with a sickly smile, murmured : " Good-after- 
noon," and disappeared behind the wall. 

Davy and the Goblin now hurried oft' wildly to re- 
sume the chase, when the Goblin suddenly stopped, 
and by an ingenious twist of his body sat down on 
his long shoes or stockings, and l^egan to rock to 
and fro like an animated little rocking-chair. 

" Dear me ! " e.Kclaimed Davy, perfectly amazed, 
" 1 thought we were chasing something." 

" Of course you did," said the Goblin, compla- 
cently; " but in this part of the world things very 
often turn out to be different from what they would 
have been if they had n't been otherwise than as 
you expected they were going to be." 

" But you thought so yourself " began Davy, 

when to his distress the Goblin suddenly faded 
into a dull pinkish color, and then disappeared 
altogether. Davy looked about him and found 
that he was quite alone in a dense wood. 




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By Louisa M. Alcott. 

" Tramp, — tramp, — tramp ! " That was the boys 
going down-stairs in a hurry. 

" Bump, — bump ! " That was the bicycle being 
zigzagged through the hall. 

"Bang That was the front door slamming be- 
hind both boys and bicycle, leaving the house quiet 
for a time, though the sound of voices outside 
suggested that a lively discussion was going on. 

The bicycle fever had reached Perryville and 
raged all summer. Now the town was very like a 
once tranquil pool infested with the long-legged 
water-bugs that go skating over its surface in all 
directions ; for wheels of every kind darted to and 
fro, startling horses, running over small children, 
and pitching their riders headlong in the liveliest 
manner. Men left their business to see the lads 
try new wheels, women grew skillful in the binding 
of wounds and the mending of sorely rent gar- 
ments, gay girls begged for rides, standing on the 
little step behind, and boys clamored for bicycles 
that they might join the army of martyrs to the 
latest craze. 

Sidney West was the proud possessor of the 
best wheel in town, and displayed his treasure 
with immense satisfaction before the admiring 
eyes of his mates. He had learned to ride in a 
city rink, and he flattered himself that he knew 
aU there was to learn, except such feats as only 
professional gymnasts acquire. He mounted with 
skillful agility, rode with as much grace as the 
tread-mill movements of the legs permit, and 

managed to guide his tall steed without much 
danger to himself or others. The occasional head- 
ers he took, and the bruises which kept his manly 
limbs in a chronic state of mourning, he did not 
mention, but concealed his stiffness heroically, and 
bound his younger brother to eternal silence by 
the bribe of occasional rides on his old wheel. 

Hugh was a loyal lad. and regarded his big 
brother as the most remarkable fellow in the 
world ; so he forgave Sid's domineering ways, was 
a willing slave, a devoted admirer, and a faithful 
imitator of all the masculine virtues, airs, and 
graces of this elder brother. On one point only 
did they disagree, and that was Sid's refusal to 
give Hugh the old wheel when the new one came. 
Hugh had fondly hoped it would be his, hints to 
that effect having been dropped when Sid wanted 
an errand done, and for weeks the younger boy 
had waited and labored patiently, sure that his 
reward would be the small bicycle, on which he 
could proudly take his place as a member of the 
newly formed club ; with them to set forth, in their 
blue uniform, with horns blowing, badges glitter- 
ing, and legs flying, for a long spin, — to return 
after dark, a mysterious line of tall shadows, 
" w ith lanterns dimly burning," and warning 
whistles sounding as they went. 

Great, therefore, was his disappointment and 
wrath when he discovered that Sid had agreed to 
sell tlic wheel to another fellow, if it suited him, 
leaving poor Hugh the only bov of his set with- 

I lO 



out a machine. Much as he loved Sid, he could 
not forgive this underhand and mercenary trans- 
action. It seemed so unbrotherly to requite so 
long and willing a service, to dash hopes so ar- 
dent, to betray so blind a confidence, for filthy 
lucre ; and when the deed was done, to laugh, 
and ride gayly away on the splendid British Chal- 
lenge, the desire of all hearts and eyes. 

One morning, Hugh had freely vented his out- 
raged feelings, and Sid had tried to make light of 
the affair, though quite conscious that he had 
been both unkind and unfair. A bicycle tourna- 
ment was to take place in the city, twenty miles 
away, and the members of the club were going. 
Sid, wishing to distinguish himself, intended to 
ride thither, and was preparing for the long trip 
with great care. Hugh was wild to go, but hav- 
ing spent his pocket-money and having been for- 
bidden to borrow, he could not take the cars as 
the others had done. No horse was to be had, and 
their own steed consisted of an old donkey, that 
would have been hopeless even with the induce- 
ment offered in the immortal ditty : 

" If I had a donkey thai would n't go, 
Do you think I 'd whip him? Oh, no, no I 
I 'd take him to Jarley's Wax- work Show." 

Therefore poor Hugh was in a desperate state 
of mind as he sat on the gate-post watching Sia 
make his pet's toilet, till every plated handle, rod, 
screw, and axle shone like silver. 

" I know I could have ridden the Star if you 
had n't let Joe have it. I do think it was right 
down mean of you." 

This was strong language for gentle Hugh, but 
he felt that he must vent his anguish. 

Sid was whistling softly as he oiled and rubbed, 
but he was not feeling so easy as he looked, and 
heartily wished that he had not committed him- 
self to Joe, for it would have been pleasant to take 
"the little chap," as he called the fourteen-year- 
older, along with him, and do the honors of the 
rink on this great occasion. Now it was too late ; 
so he affected a careless air, and added insult to 
injury by answering his brother's reproaches in 
the joking spirit which is peculiarly exasperating 
at such moments. 

" Children should n't play with matches, nor 
small boys with bicycles. I don't want to commit 
murder, and I certainly should if I let you try to 
ride twenty miles when you can't go one without 
nearly breaking your neck — or your knees," and 
Sid glanced with a smile at the neat darns which 
ornamented his brother's trousers over those por- 
tions of his long legs. 

"How's a fellow going to learn, if he isn't 
allowed to try? Might as well tell me to keep 

away from the water till I can swim. Just give 
me a chance and see if I can't ride as well as some 
older fellows who have been pitched 'round rather 
freely before they dared to try a twenty mile spin," 
answered Hugh, clapping both hands on his knees 
to hide the tell-tale darns. 

"If Joe does n't want it, you can use the old 
wheel till I decide what to do with it. I suppose a 
man has a right to sell his own property, if he 
likes," said Sid, rather nettled at the allusion to 
his own tribulations in times past. 

" Of course he has ; but if he 's promised to give 
a thing, he ought to do it, especially after he 's had 
work done for him to pay for it. That 's what 
makes me angry ; for I believed you and depended 
on you, and it hurts me more to have you deceive 
me than it would to lose ten bicycles ; " and Hugh 
choked a little at the thought, in spite of his at- 
tempt to look sternly indignant. 

"You are welcome to your opinion. Take 
the cars, if you want to go so much, and stop 
bothering me," retorted Sid, getting cross because 
he was in the wrong and would n't own it. 

" You know I can't ! I 've no money, and must n't 
borrow ! What 's the use of twitting a fellow in that 
style ? " answered Hugh. 

"Take Sancho, then; you might arrive before 
the fun was all over, if you carried whips and pins 
and crackers enough to keep the old boy going." 

This allusion to the useless donkey was cruel, 
but Hugh held on to the last remnant of his tem- 
per, and made a wild proposal in the despair of the 

"See here, why can't we ride and tie? I 've 
tried this wheel, and I can ride it well. You 'd be 
along to see to me, and we 'd take turns. Do, 
Sid ! I just long to go, and if you will, please, I 
wont say another word about Joe." 

But Sid only burst out laughing at the plan, in 
a thoroughly heartless manner. 

"No, thank you. 1 don't mean to walk a step 
when I can ride, nor lend my new wheel to a chap 
who can hardly keep right side up on the old one." 

" I hope I sha'n't be as selfish when I 'm seven- 
teen. I'll have a bicycle yet, — A, No. i, — and 
then you '11 see how I '11 lend it, like a gentleman. "■ 

"Keep cool, my son. If you are so smart a 
lad, why don't you walk, since wheels and horses 
and donkeys fail. It's only twenty miles, — nothing 
to speak of, you know," replied Sid. 

"Well, I could do it if I liked," said Hugh. 
"I 've walked eighteen, and was n't half so tired 
as you were. Any one can get over the ground 
on a bicycle, but it takes strength and courage to 
keep it up on foot." 

" You 'd better try it," suggested Sid. 

" I will, some day," spoke up Hugh ; and fearing 

1884. 1 


T I r 

he should kick over the tall bicycle that stood so 
temptingly near him, Hugh walked away, trying 
to whistle, though his lips were more inclined tu 
tremble than to pucker. 

" Just bring my lunch, will you ? Auntie is put- 
ting it up ; I must be off," called Sid, so used to 
giving orders that he did so even at this unpro- 
pitious moment. 

"Get it yourself 1 'm not going to do errands 
for you any longer," growled Hugh ; for the trod- 
den worm turned at last, as worms will. 

This was open revolt, and Sid felt that things 
were in a bad way, but would not stop to mend 
them then. 

"Whew! here 's a tempest in a tea-pot. Well, 
it is too bad; but I can't help it now. I '11 make 
it all right to-morrow, and bring him round with a 
nice account of the fun," thought Sid. "Hullo, 
Bemis ! going to town ? " he called, as a neighbor 
came spinning noiselessly by. 

" Part of the way," replied the wheelman. " I 'II 
take the cars at Lawton. It 's hard riding over 
the hills, and a bother to steer a wheel through the 
streets. Come on, if you 're ready." 

"All right;" and springing up, .Sid was off, 
forgetting all about the lunch. 

Hugh, dodging behind the lilac-bushes, heard 
what passed, and the moment they were gone ran 
to the gate to watch them out of sight with long- 
ing eyes. Then he turned away, listlessly wonder- 
ing how he should spend the holiday his brother 
was going to enjoy so much. 

At that moment Aunt Ruth hurried to the door, 
waving the leathern pouch well stored with cake 
and sandwiches, cold coffee and pie. 

" Sid 's forgotten his bag. Run, call, stop him ! " 
she cried, trotting down the walk with her cap- 
strings waving wildly in the fresh October wind. 

For an instant Hugh hesitated, thinking sul- 
lenly, " Serves him right — 1 wont run afterhim" ; 
then his kind heart got the better of his bad humor, 
and catching up the bag he raced down the road 
at his best pace, eager to heap coals of fire on Sid's 
proud head, — to say nothing of his own desire to 
see more of the riders. 

"They will have to go slowly up the long hill, 
and I '11 catch them then," he thought as he tore 
over the ground, for he was a good runner and 
prided himself on his strong legs. 

Unfortunately for his amiable intentions, the 
boys had taken a short cut to avoid the hill, and 
were out of sight down a lane where Hugh never 
dreamed they would dare to go, so mounted. 

" Well, they have done well to get over the hill 
at this rate. But they '11 not keep it up long," 

panted Hugh, stopping short when he saw no signs 
of the riders. 

The road stretched invitingly before him, the 
race had restored his spirits, and curiosity to see 
what had become of his friends lured him to the 
hill-top, where temptation sat waiting for him. 
Up he trudged, finding the fresh air, the sunny 
sky, the path strewn with red and yellow leaves, 
and the sense of freedom so pleasant that when 
he reached the highest point and saw the world 
all before him, as it were, a daring project seemed 
to flash upon him, nearly taking his breath away 
with its manifold delights. 

" Sid said, ' Walk,' and why not ? — at least to 
Lawton, and take the cars from there, as Bemis 
means to do. Would n't the old fellows be sur- 
prised to see me turn up at the rink ? It 's a 
quarter past eight now, and the fun begins at 
three ; I could get there easily enough, and I 
will, too ! I 've a good lunch here, and money 
enough to pay car-fare from Lawton, I guess. If I 
have n't, I '11 go a little further and take a horse -car. 
Here goes," — and with a whoop of boyish delight 
at breaking bounds, away went Hugh down the 
long hill, like a colt escaped from its pasture. 

The others were just ahead, but the windings 
of the road hid them from him; so all went on, 
unconscious of one another's proximity. Hugh's 
run gave him a good start, and he got over the 
ground famously for five or six miles ; then he 
went more slowly, thinking he had plenty of time 
to catch a certain train. But he had no watch, 
and when he reached Lawton he had the pleasure 
of seeing the cars go out at one end of the station 
as he hurried in at the other. 

"I '11 not give it up, but just go on and do it 
afoot. That will be something to brag of when 
the other chaps tell big stories. I '11 see how fast 
1 can go, for I 'm not tired, and can eat on the 
way. Much obliged to Sid for a nice lunch." 

And chuckling over this piece of good luck, 
Hugh set out again, only pausing for a good 
drink at the town-pump. The thirteen miles did 
not seem very long when he thought of them, but 
as he walked them they appeared to grow longer 
and longer, till he felt as if he must have traveled 
about fifty. He was in good practice, and fortu- 
nately had on easy shoes ; but he was in such a 
hurry to make good time that he allowed himself 
no rest, and jogged on, up hill and down, with 
the resolute air of one walking for a wager. 
There we will leave him, and see what had be- 
fallen Sid ; for his adventures were more exciting 
than Hugh's, though all seemed plain sailing 
when he started. 

( To be (Oncbtdcd. ) 

I I 2 



1 iJ3rc{i?ii?MSi^CW^;'Sw 

'To a stray jrhoto^raph of a child.) 

V little girl with curling hair, 

And wondering look in either eye, — 
I picked you up, I scarce know where. 

And kept you, though I scarce know wh) 
In gayest Sunday garb arrayed, 

Your plump feet in their Sunday shoes, 
I know that you, my pretty maid. 

Are some one's pet — no matter whose ! 

I see the soap upon your face. 

The traces of the brush and comb, 
Ribbon and ruffle in their place, — 

The anxious care they took at home ! 
Dressed and undressed, and once more 

dressed, . , ., . 

With doubts of blue and red and ,/')","■. 
green, — 
Until at last they all confessed 

A lovelier child was never seen 

Aunt, cousin, nurse, and grandmamma, 

Mamma herself, pronounced you sweet 
Then, toward the sky-light glimmering far, if 

While you — it was your first, my dear ! 

With apprehension all alert, 
Marched in a maze of fun and fear. 

And wondered if the man would huit. 

They led you toddling down the street. — ^ 

<884.1 THE MITI.K UNKi\MJ\Vi\. II3 

That chair ! That lofty, leathery chair 

Wherein they placed you mounted high ; 
The Cyclops camera standing there, 

And staring with its great glass eye ! 
They chang'd your legs, they changed the light ; 

They posed you this way, posed you that ; 
Until at last they got you right, 

And left you with a parting pat. 

\E moment! — Ah! — What mischief wrought 

Within that moment's little term ! 
The sunbeams sped as swift as thought. 

And registered — a fatal squirm ! 
The man came back and shook his head ; 

He dared not show Mamma that face. 
But "Better luck, next time!" he said, 

And fixed you once more in your place. 

Next time, forsooth ! a great success, — 

Except indeed no nose was there ; 
Next time, a countenance to bless, — 

Only the eyes were not a pair ! 
Next time, a perfect gem appears, — 

Save that the mouth gaped like a chasm. 
While dress and eyes and legs and ears 

Were mixed in one chaotic spasm. 

Again, again, and still again 

The product hardly human seems ! 
The brow of one besieged by pain 

That for her "soothing syrup'' screams ! - 
A sleeper's fear — a maniac's whim — 

Something to startle and enthrall. 
Like sculptured faces fierce and grim 

On some cathedral's moklering wall. 

Vol. XII. — S. 




Yet Still he "took" and "took" anew, 

And bless'd King Herod's heavy hand, 
Which all the Hebrew babies slew 

Through all the weeping Hebrew land. 
With dreadful frown and eager haste, 
Fresh negatives he tried and tried ; 
And wondered what 't would cost to taste 
The luxury of infanticide ! 

Soon daylight will to darkness pass. 

The shower of sunbeams soon be o'er; 
And must we give it up? — alas! 

And must we dress that child once more: 
Apollo, grant your brightest ray ! 

Blue skies, O be not overcast ! 
O Science, do your prettiest, pray ! 
— The prayer is heard — a hit at last! 

hit! — But when they brought it home, 

The doubts so grave, the gabble such, — 
No master canvas hung in Rome 

Was ever talked of half so much. 
Some thought it like, and others cried 

They " never should have known it, never I " 
While thus each critic testified 
Himself or herself mighty clever! 

" Likeness, indeed! I'm sure there's none; 
It looks as much, or more, like me ! " — 
(This sweet remark in acid tone 
Was from a maid of fifty-three !) 
"Too short!" said one; "too long!" another; 

" Too young ! " a third : " too old ! " the next ; 
" Too pretty!" added to the bother: 
" Too plain!" the differing jury vexed. 



Whatever merit it possessed, 

Whatever of perfection lacked. 
At last they placed you with the rest, 

Within the album broken-backed. 
Then in your pasteboard niche displayed, 

You sUimber'd snug as snug could be, 
Till by some accident you strayed — 

Were lost, poor child! and found — by nic ! 

HAT doubts these pictured features bring 
Of all that makes life ill or good ! 
Wliether you passed away with spring, 

Or bloomed in perfect womanhood. 
Whether they saw you grow in grace, 

As girlhood's hour went winging by ; 
Or on your quiet, marble face 

Dropped the hot tear, and sobbed ' 
bye ! " 


No ! Let me think, the season o'er 

Of maiden joys and soft alarms. 
Mother and wife, you proudly bore 

Your own wee baby in your arms. 
That you, yourself in turn mamma. 

Made the new treasure bright and sweet; 
Then toward the sky-light glimmering far 

You led her toddling down the street. 




By Graci 

A Snow-man stands in the moonlight-gold, 

Smoking his pipe serenely. 
For what cares he that the night is cold ? 
Though his coat is thin and his hat is old, 

And the blustering wind blows keenly. 

He has heard the children telling in glee 

That Santa Claus would visit 
This night their beautiful Christmas tree; 
And it is not strange he should wish to sec 

How this can happen, — now is it? 

row- MAN. 


He sees through the window the children brighi . 

And hears them merrily singing 
Round the Christmas tree with its glory of light,- • 
When out from the chimney, in bear-skins whiti . 
Comes good St. Nicholas springing! 

And the Snow-man laughs so hard at that, 

That when his laughter ceases, 
A pipe, a coat, and an old straw hat. 
Two lumps of coal and a flannel cravat. 
Are all that is left of the pieces ! 


By Mary Hallock. Foote. 

Menhaden is not to be found on any map of 
Long Island. It is so much like a number of 
other places, however, which aTC on the map, that 
it is easy to describe it to one who knows the 
Great South Beach. It is chiefly sand and sky and 
water, with a distance of marshes seen through 
the breaches the ocean has made in the sand 
dunes that line the coast. 

In the summer one can know but little about the 

ways of wind and water at Menhaden. The seven 
life-saving men, in the little house behind the sand 
dunes, could tell us something more about them ; 
for they stay there all winter (when the cottages at 
Menhaden are as silent and lifeless as a row of snow- 
thatched bee-hives) to watch over those same wild 
ways, and to guard against the terrible mischief 
they can do. But in summer we only know that 
the wind is sweet and cool, and that the water is 


SUMMER AT C 1 1 I< I S T M A S - 'P I M E . 


the most beautiful thing on the face of the earth. 
Beautiful in motion or at rest, if it ever really is at 
rest; and with a voice that to hear once is to love 
and never to forget. 

Menhaden is a good place for children, and for 
children's mothers who count that summer happy 
which has no history except the short and simple 
annals of good appetites, red cheeks, and sound 

of baby-carriages, or bare-footed children, or 
slender-footed girls in tennis shoes. Only the 
big, far-apart tracks of booted men — the men 
from the life-saving station — who go plodding up 
and down, on their night marches, through the 
winter storms. 

A ) Oung lady, whom the Gannet and Robinson 
children called Aunt Emily, spent part of one 


slumbers. Like the sand, which is its portion, 
IVIenhaden is clean and quiet. But if it wishes to be 
gay, it has only to take the dummy-train across 
the marshes from its little hotel to the big one at 
Broad Beach. It may consider the sunset and 
the evening-colored ocean ; it may dine sumptu- 
ously and listen to the music on the crowded 
piazzas of Broad Beach, and return at bed-time 
to find its babies asleep in the cool upper cham- 
bers of its cottages, with a mile or two of surf 
booming along the shore for a cradle-song. 

The tram-road has a brief summer engagement 
with the hotel and the cottages. When that is 
over, its shrill, high-piping whistle ceases, and 
Menhaden is left to its water-paths and to the 
long path of the beach. But by this time there 
is no Menhaden to speak of There are no babies 
to be wakened by the whistle; no papas to take 
the train. The great beach-path shows no tracks 

summer at Menhaden with her sister, Mrs. Gan- 
net. Mrs. Gannet had taken one of the cottages. 
Aunt Emily could draw a little, as many young 
ladies do. Not so very well, perhaps ; but so well 
that her friends said she must " keep on." 

She had brought her summer's sketches with 
her on her return to her home with the Robinsons, 
who lived in the country. The children found 
them on the table one evening during the Christ- holidays. They made a circle of heads and 
bright, bent faces around the lamp, and began turn- 
ing over the drawings. " Is that all ? " they said, 
u hen they had come to the last one. The children 
always expected more of Aunt Emily's pencil than 
it had ever been able to accomplish. Repeated 
disappointments had not taught them its short- 
comings. Besides, children, as a rule, think in col- 
ors ; when they imagine a place, they see the blue 
sky and the colors of the houses and the people's 

[l8 MEN II ADEN sketches: [December. 

clothes. The Menhaden sketches were in black 
and white. Aunt Emily felt obliged to do some- 
thing to save the show from being a total failure. 
She took up the first sketch and tried to supply its 
deficiencies with words. The sandy road, which 
looked as if it were on its way across the marshes, 
went in reality only to the tram-way station. The 
man was Peter, and the cart, Peter's cart. His 
horse was called " Neighbor," and was a bright bay 
in color. The water-barrels were painted blue. 
Did n't they think blue was the very cleanest and 

best color for a water-barrel ; could they think of 
any other color that held water better ? The chil- 
dren were not disposed to dwell on this question. 
Were those Aunt Kate's black stockings ? No, they 
were part of the Wetherels' clothes. They had so 
many! The Wetherel clothes-line always had its 
colors displayed. There were the ample garments 
of the papa and mamma, like the National Ensign, 
and there were the lively Union Jacks flying, the 
emblems of all the little Wetherels of various sizes. 
Those gray shadows on the side of the sand hills 
were in reality masses of a pink flower called the 
Sabatia. All the cottage parlors and dinner-tables 
were dressed with it while it was in blossom. And 
the sail-boats — " It gives me a pang when I think 
of the sail-boats," Aunt Emily said, "and those 
strips of water that went somewhere up through the 
salt meadows, — we never once followed them ! I 

shall never know where they went to ! " Could n t 
she ask some one ? the children suggested. No, 
because some one would tell her they went to 
Hempstead or to Frceport. " When we go sailing 
in the meadows, we '11 not go to Hempstead, will 
we, Lucy ? and we '11 not go ' outside ' and fish for 
anything ; and we '11 not go ashore and creep about 
in the marshes and shoot at anything; we will just 

sail and sail, and if the wind stops we will stop " 

"And eat our dinner in the boat," said Lucy. 
'•A very good idea, too!" Aunt Emily agreed. 

and with that they turned to another sketch, — The 
foggy-day sketch, and the cottages, half-hidden by 
the slope of the beach. It was the last of Sep- 
tember, Aunt Emily explained. Menhaden had 
begun to look lonesome, as if it were lost on 
that great stretch of barren beach. The hotel was 
closed, and the cottages, — all but four, and in two 
of these the people were packing their trunks. 
Hammocks had been taken down from the piazzas, 
and curtains from the windows. The ladies were 
saying good-bye to one another, and hoping to see 
one another next winter, in town, and saying what 
a happy summer it had been, and how well the 
children were, and what a pity it was to go away 
just as a fire on the hearth was so pleasant, and 
the marshes were getting such a color, and the 
sunsets were so perfectly wonderful ! There were 
no more lawn-tennis and archery on the strip of 




sunlit sand in front of the cottages ; no white- 
armed girls, in bathing dresses, running across it 
to the surf ; no troops of children clambering up 
the sand hills, or racing on the high board walks, 
or tending their dolls on the steps that lead down 
to the sand. The little summer play was over. 
Down falls the curtain of autumn fogs. Only one 
belated mamma, and one little lonesome child, 
left outside, as it were, between the drop-curtain 
and the footlights, which we might consider, if one 
chose to keep on with such fancies, the long, 
flashing lines of surf, — the one positive light in the 
gray, dull picture. 

Ever so far down the shore some j oung fellows 
in knickerbockers, with low-pointed guns, are 
crouching along, trying to get a shot at the flocks 
of sandpipers. Out of the cottage called " Bright 
Light" comes a young girl in a dark dress, with 
braids of fair hair hanging down her back ; she 
climbs the little slope and clasps the flag-pole with 
one arm, swinging slowly around and around it, 
and looking out toward the ocean. Perhaps she is 
bidding it good-bye. Now she leans away from 
the pole, at the length of her slender arm, and 
looks up at the sky, as a canary-bird will lean from 
its perch and peer upward toward the roof of its 
cage. Then she goes in the house, and the next 
figure that comes out against the fog-curtain is 
the pretty nurse-maid from cottage No. 5. She, 
too, is bare-headed and fair-haired, with a long, 
white apron blowing out from her neat waist, and a 
pair of solidly turned arms uncovered to the elbow. 
Her hands are pink, as if from washing. She is 
looking for the youngest child, whom they call 
"Babes." Babes is nowhere to be seen, and so 
she goes in. The fog grows thicker and darker. 
The cottages look like a procession of shadows. 
Aunt Emily's paper gets sticky, her India ink is full 
of sand, and a boy in jerseys comes prancing down 
the beach, and scatters a lot of sand over the 

" That 's me," says the unconcerned Alfred, 
Aunt Kate's eldest, who has come with Aunt 
Emily on a visit to his cousins. 

" I wish 'me ' would take his elbows out of my 
work-basket," the mother protests. 

Alfred removes his elbows from the basket, and 
plants them contentedly on one of Aunt Emily's 
crayon drawings. 

" This boy has more elbows," Aunt Emily says, 
taking his blonde, close-cropped head under her 
arm, " and more boot-heels than any boy I know ! " 

Alfred twists his head out of its yoke, and moves 
farther off. 

"Why don't you tell about that walk?" he 

" What walk ? There were so many." 

" The one we took. Down to the old wreck." 

" Well, then," Aunt Emily continued, "1 sent 
Alfred up to the house with my things and walked 
on down the beach, and after a while he caught 
up with me " 

" After a while ! It was n't two minutes." 

" After two minutes, then, we were tramping 
together down the shore. It was low, low water; 
"dead low water," the fishermen say. The beach 
was broad, and it sloped like the deck of a ship. 
The sand was firm, and yet soft enough to give a 
little spring to the step. Alfred is now a very good 
height to walk with ; his head comes nearly to my 
shoulder, and he can keep step, even when he 
is n't thinking about it. He does n't talk much, 
but that morning the waves broke softly, with little 
pauses, and we heard them saying ' Hush, hush, 
hush-s-s-sh ! ' all down the shore " 

"Aunt Emily!" said Alfred, the truth-teller, 
staring at the narrator when she made this extra- 
ordinary statement. 

"Didn't you hear them, Alfred? You must 
have been thinking about the crab in your trou- 
sers pocket." (The children laughed at this — 
all except Alfred.) " For you know there are 
quiet days on the beach," Aunt Emily continued, 
" and there are talking and laughing and shout- 
ing days. This was n't one of the shouting days. 
When the tide is out and the beach is bare and 
the sun is hidden, so one can look about with 
eyes wide open, the shore is like a story-book. 
But it takes a wise reader to read that book ; 
wiser than any of us, 1 'm afraid. Every little 
shell that leaves its print in the sand has its own 
story ; its parents and its home and its queer, 
silent habits of life, as unchangeable as our own. 
Every draggled bit of sea-weed could tell us won- 
derful things about those floating gardens where 
it grew. The wave-marks tell how the waves 
pushed one another, and trod on one another, as 
they crowded up the beach ; but all this pushing 
and hustling was done very smoothly and softly. The 
signs of it are not much like the foot-prints of a 
crowd of human feet trampling the sand ; they 
are faint tracings making a continuous pattern in 
cun-es, like all the sea patterns — one curve inter- 
rupting another, or overlapping it. The beach 
looks like a perfect waste, strewn with tangles 
of eel-grass and sown with shells. But everything 
is done by law. The wind that piles up the sand 
into hills, and the waves that tear it down, even 
when they are doing their wildest work, work by 
law. The dunes on those, south beaches grow 
higher and steeper from cast to west, showing the 
direction of the heaviest winds. They fit the shore 
as your nose fits your face." (The children all 
look at one another's noses.) ■" However they may 




be, you can not imagine tliem any different in that baclc. Dal, bring your specimens ; perhaps you 

particular place. The beach-grass fits the sand have captured one of their sisters or a cousin." 
it grows out of. Fancy those silky, dark-green Dallas, a boy of thirteen, the eldest of the 

meadow-grasses on top of the sand dunes. How group, brought his latest entomological specimens, 


foolish they would look, and how much less e.\- 
pression they would have in a high wind. Every- 
thing perfectly fits every other thing on the shore ; 
but besides that beauty of harmony, there is the 
other, perhaps more thrilling, beauty of contrast. 
I used to think of that when we met the baby 
toddling over the sand. He is just beginning to 
walk, making little rushes, with both hands out, 
and then stopping and tottering on his feet a 
second, and sitting down very suddenly. His eyes 
are brown, and his hair is like thistle-down. His 
tracks in the sand are about so long ! You never 
saw anything so lovely., and so helpless, and so 
bravely unconscious of its own helplessness." Aunt 
Emily was talking now to the children's mamma, 
who smiled over her sewing, thinking not so much 
of contrasts as of the little nephew she had never 
seen, and how happy his mother must be with 

"Could you think of anything more out of place 
on that bare, sand beach than a baby or a butter- 
fly?" Aunt Emily continued. "We found two 
butterflies that day, dead, with their wings folded 

pinned on the under side of a white paper-box 
co\-er. Aunt Emily recognized at once a relative 
of the ill-fated Menhaden butterflies. Its color 
was a deep orange-brown, veined with black, and 
spotted with white to make it more splendid. One 
of its fan-shaped wings would have made a gor- 
geous painted window for a fairy's palace. Dal 
informed the company that this was called the 
Arcliippiis butterfly. The children protested 
against that name. They considered it too ugly 
for anything. 

Mamma looked up from her work and wondered 
if it were not the children's bed-time. 

There was a groan of remonstrance from the 

"Let us finish the walk," Aunt Emily begged. 
" You know of course that butterflies do not live on 
beaches any more than babies do. They are waifs 
from the land. The land breeze blows them out 
to sea — the butterflies, not the babies — and they 
cannot 'beat' back with their frail wings. The 
tide had carried our butterflies m. But when we 
saw them they were quite dry ; their wings stirred 

1884. I 




a little, as if there might be a flutter of life left. 
We found another messenger from the inland, a 
willow-leaf, turned a yellowish pink. The north 
wind had brought it to us, across the treeless 
marshes, to tell us summer was gone, and we too 
had better pack up and go ; or perhaps to remind 
us that the woods would soon be as beautiful as 
the shore." 

■'And we saw the life-saving man's tracks," 
Alfred interrupted. " We went to see them drill 
one morning early. But they did not drill that 
time. Then anotlier morning we went — but the 
drill did n't begin for ever so long. We found 
some flowers and a wild-bean vine, with little beans 
and blossoms on it, and some of those grasses with 
queer tops. But the mosquitoes were so thick in 
the marshes, we had to get out of there pretty 
quick. We climbed up on the sand hills where the 
wind blew. And we coasted down the steepest 
side " 

"But the drill, Alfred," interrupted Lucy. 

" The drill was when they opened the big doors 
and ran out the surf-boat — three men on a side. 
Then they got hold of the ropes and dragged out 
the mortar-car." 

" But you are not the only listener, Dal," 
Mamma said. 

Aunt Emily explained to Lucy as well as she 
could how a ball, with a line fastened to it, is fired 
from the mortar out over the wrecked ship. The 
sailors on the ship seize the line, and by means of 
it they haul aboard the hawser which the surf-men 
send out to them, and make their end of it fast. 
They know just how to manage these ropes, because 
tied to the whip-line" is a " tally-board," on which 
are printed directions in different languages for the 
handling of the ropes and the hauling-tackle. 
The men on the beach fasten their end of the 
hawser to the sand-anchor and tighten it, so there 
is no slack ; then they prop it up high above the 
surf by means of a wooden crotch, so it makes a 
kind of rope bridge between the vessel and the 
shore. Then the surf-men send out the "breeches- 
buoy" — a pair of big canvas knee-breeches, made 
water-tight, and with an air-filled roll of canvas, 
which comes up under the arms and acts like a 

" That is for old sailors," said Alfred. " They 
have a 'life-car' for the women and children." 
Aunt Emily remarked that the men went through 


"Oh, I know all about that!" Dallas inter- the drill with great deliberation. Thev did not 

jected. '■ I read about that in a magazine one make it in the least dramatic. But these same 

winter. And there was a picture of the men draw- men, who lounged through the life-s.iving drill 

ing the mortar-car along the beach in a storm." on a bright summer morning, with a group of 




ladies and children looking on, would be the 
very ones to strain every nerve, on the winter 
beach, working for the crew of a ship ashore in 
the surf. 

"The most beautiful place on the shore is just 
beyond the wreck," Aunt Emily went on. " The 
beach swings out in a great shining curve, shaped 
like the blade of a scythe, with the edge toward 
the water. And the waves topple over and fall in 
swaths of foamy ripples when they touch the beach. 
The curve runs out in a long, low sand-spit. Just 
behind it the sun sets, and the most wonderful 
skies lean down, so low, it seems as if the path of 
the beach led right into them. Going west, you 
feel as if you could walk forever, with that sky 
before you ; but when you face the other way, sud- 
denly you feel very far from home. The east is a 
cold dark-blue — an evening blue. The cottages, 
too, are so far away they look like a toy village 
some child has set up on the beach and left there, 
forgetting to put them back in their box. We 
never felt tired going west, so we always went too 
far. Then the tide would come in and drive us up 
the beach where the sand is soft, and we would fitg 
along and stop sometimes to rest, and lie flat on 
the beach, and feel as if we were afloat between 
sky and water. It was hard to get up again and 
go on after those blissful rests. It was a kind of 
pilgrim's progress all the way home. And some- 
times we met two 'shining ones' coming toward 
us to tell us we were late, and dinner was waiting." 

" Now, tell 'em about the ' new wreck,' " Alfred 
said, in his character of assistant showman. 

" Aunt Emily had better hire a hall," said Dallas, 
who was promptly reproved by his mamma. 

" Well, about the last of July we had a ' dry 
south-wester.' They did not call it a storm. Your 
Uncle Walton said, ' You don't call this a wind ! 
If it should start up now and blo^c, you could n't 
stand on this walk ! ' We did n't stand ; we leaned, 
and held on to our hats. The sand was flying in 
a stinging shower. Everything seemed to have 
turned pale. The spray hung like a fog over the 
ocean, and as far as one could see, the water was 
in a gray tumult. The grasses on the sand dunes 
were blowing as if they were tearing themselves out 
by the roots. Everybody who had n't been driven 
indoors hunted for a 'lee.' We took it all as a 
kind of lark ; I 'm afraid we even wanted it to blow 
harder. About the time the ladies who had been 
taking naps began to dress for dinner, somebody 
discovered that bit of wreck — just a darker gray 
spot against the mist that hid the horizon. And 
then the whole place went wild. The beach is very 
shoal and the heaviest seas broke far out. The crew 
had been having their struggle for life out there in 
plain sight of the shore, while we all were looking 

on as if it were a play. The boat had capsized, 
and the two men had been clinging to it and 
washing about there for hours. If it had been a 
larger vessel, and grounded farther out, there would 
have been a tragedy, very likely ; for the life- 
saving station was not open then. It was a little 
fishing-sloop. As they drifted in, the mast broke 
off, and somehow the floating mast and the sail 
clinging to it helped them to keep the boat straight 
for the shore. They came up the beach into 
water waist deep. But once the people found out 
what was going on, they made the most of it. They 
were sure it was a genuine shipwreck. The hotel 
fairly emptied itself out on the beach, — first the 
big boys and men. There were n't many men, 
for the ' husbands' train ' was not in yet. Then 
the ladies, with their bangs blowing straight out 
in front, and the waiters in their aprons, — the 
porters, the cooks, and the scullions, — and a few- 
heavy-footed men, like fishermen, who followed 
along after the rest, and seemed to know that the 
real danger was over, and that the men would get 
ashore all right if only the crowd did n't suffocate 
them with their sympathy. 

" The captain was a quiet, manly fellow. They 
tried to make a hero of him ; but he was thinking 
of his boat more than of himself. He did not even 
come ashore at first, but stood in the surf doing 
what he could for the poor desperate thing. He 
would not take the brandy they offered him. He 
never had touched it, he said very pleasantly, and 
he did not need it then. But if brandy could 
have revived the wounded sloop, no doubt he 
would have accepted the ' last measure ' of Men- 
haden's best. He was the guest of one of the 
cottages that night. Not a very lively guest, per- 
haps. He had escaped with his life, and no doubt 
he was thankful, as the bravest and most self- 
reliant men are not ashamed to be. But his boat 
was gone, and with it a good many years' work, 
and two or three hundred dollars besides, the price 
of his last cargo. The contrast must have been 
rather cruel between his own outlook and the easy, 
graceful, summer holiday life of his entertainers." 

" I don't believe he was thinking about them at 
all, or troubling himself about comparisons," 
Mamma said. " He was probably thinking only 
about his people at home, and what he would do 
next. Your sloop captain was a man of action." 

"All the same, I wont have my picturesque little 
situation spoiled. Can't you fancy him steering 
his way cautiously through the courses of the Mau- 
rins' dinner? And he must have worn some of 
Mr. Maurin's clothes." 

"Ah, well, Lucy is sleepy. She does n't care 
about the captain, now we have him safe 


I 2 ■ 

" Lucy and Alfred must go to bed," said Mamma, ered his spirits as soon as he went to work upon his 

— "Arewe tired of the captain, too?" y\unt Emily boat. Perhaps they liked his looks, too. He had a 
asked, when the children had gone. 

" I think we could hear a little more 
about him, if you can," Mamma replied. 

" They heard him about two o'clock 
ne.xt morning, tramping about in his 
room overliead. The gentlemen at 
Menhaden made up a handsome 
purse for him, but he would not take 
it. He had no family of his own, he 
said. His brothers did their share 
toward keeping a comfortable place 
for their mother and a sister who was 
lame. Perhaps he was a little ungra- 
cious, but then he had nothing left 
but liis ])ride, and why should he 
take their money? When they urged 
it upon him, he only laughed and 
said : ' Keep it for my widow. I may 
not be so lucky next time.' 

" The week after the wreck I spent 
elsewhere. When I came back, the 
captain's affairs had taken a turn. The 
boat, it seems, was not past mending. 
They had 'beached her,' and three 
or four 'longshore-men, friends of the 
captain, and captains or ex-captains 
themselves to a man, I 've no doubt, 
were at work upon the boat, calking 
her seams, I believe. Whatever it was 
they were doing, they seemed to be 
taking their time about it. Every 
morning, when tlie children were run- 
ning about in their night-gowns, try- 
ing not to get dressed for breakfast, 
they were on the watch for the ' boat 
captains,' as they called them. At this 
hour they were generally to be seen 
tramping over the sand from their 
camp on the inlet. Their long shad- 
ows reached before them a long way, 
like a path they were following. The 
boat was held down to the beach by 
hawsers. She leaned on her ways, and 
looked very despondent on thosebright 
mornings. She grew to seem very hu- 
man to us. The boat and the boat's 
captain were great favorites at Men- 
haden. The young fellows who ran 
about in their bathing-suits, showing 
their white, boyish muscles, could not 
help admiring this ' brown viking of 
the fishing-smack,' and remembered 
his pluck the night he came ashore. 
The girls liked him for his misfortunes, which they 
probably exaggerated, for the captain had recov- 



fine profile 
back of his 

and quite a high-bred line from the 
head to the nape of his neck.'' 




"You seem to have looked at the captain," 
Mamma remarked. 

" I look at everything ; don't you ? And I enjoy 
everything 1 look at, 1 'm happy to say, if it is only 
good of its kind. 

"The captain, 1 am sure, was one of the cleanest, 
and bravest, and best of his kind. The girls would 
have made a pet of him, no doubt, as they did of 
his boat, but they were rather afraid of his short 
answers and long silences, and his way of not 
appearing to see them when they were around. 

" After the boat was mended they waited weeks 

before they could get her off through the surf. 
The wind was wrong, or the tide, or there was too 
much surf, or too much wind, or both. The chil- 
dren clambered over her all day, and in the even- 
ings the young people took their turn. Not one 
of the cottage piazzas could make such a pretty 
show on moonlight nights as the sloop's deck. 
Every one missed her when at last they dragged 
her away over the sand on rollers and launched 
her in the inlet. So the captain had his summer 
at Menhaden with the rest of the cottagers, only 
he took his cottage away with him when he went. 


(A Brk-d-Brac BalLid.) 

Bv Helen Gray Cone. 

AID the Greenaway girl at the stile. 

Who has always an amiable smile, 
To the ivory man who was brought from Japan 
(He was sharpening a sword all the while); 

" 1 can not understand why you frown ! " 
" 1 'm desirous of putting you down,'' 

He replied. "You 're so new, and your frock is 
so blue. 

And your sisters are all over town ! 

" / am ancient" (he stated his age), 
" And am said to Exhibit a Stage: 

See the tint of my flesh ! " " My complexion 's more fresh," 
Answered she, "and my manners engage!" 

" 1 'm expensive" (he mentioned his price), 
" While a dime, I suppose, would suffice 

To obtain one of you ! You '11 excuse me — it 's true ! " 
" Yes, 1 know," said the maid, "but I 'm nice!''' 

And I heard them, and straightway decide, 
Till the Mongol abandons his pride, 
And the maiden reveres his position and years. 
They shall stand on the shelf side by side. 


By Hjalmar H. Boyesen. 



When Thor was twelve years old, he had to go 
out into the world to make his own living; for 
his parents were poor, and they had half a dozen 
younger children, who also had to be fed and clothed. 
As it happened, Judge Nannestad, who lived on a 
large estate down at the fiord, wanted an office- 
boy, and as Thor was a bright and active lad, he 
had no difficulty in obtaining the situation. Tho 
only question was, how to dispose of Mikkel; for, 
to be frank, Mikkel (in spite of his many admi- 
rable traits) was not a general favorite, and Thor 
suspected that when his protector was away Mikkel 
would have a hard time of it. He well knew 
that Mikkel was of a peculiar temperament, which 
required to be studied in order to be appreciated, 
and as there was no one but himself who took this 
trouble, he did not wonder that his friend was gen- 
erally misunderstood. Mikkel's was not a nature to 
invite confidences; he scrupulously kept his own 
counsel, and was always alert and on his guard. 
There was a bland expression on his face, a kind 
of lurking smile, which never varied, and which 
gave absolutely no clew to his thoughts. When 

he had skimmed the cream off the milk-pans on 
the top shelf in the kitchen, he returned, licking 
his chops, with the same inscrutable smile, as if his 
conscience were as clean as a new-born babe's ; and 
when he had slipped his collar over his head and 
dispatched the kitten, burying its remains in the 
back yard, he betrayed no more remorse than if 
he had been cracking a nut. Sultan, the dog, 
strange to say, had private reasons for being afraid 
of him, and always slank away in a shamefaced 
manner whenever Mikkel gave him one of his 
quiet sidelong glances. And yet the same iNIikkel 
would roll on his back and jump and play with the 
baby by the hour, seize her pudgy little hands 
gently with his teeth, never inflicting a bite or a 
scratch. He would nestle on Thor's bosom inside 
of his coat while Thor was learning his lesson, or 
he would sit on his shoulder and look down on the 
book with his superior smile. It was not to be 
denied that .Mikkel had a curious character — an 
odd mixture of good and bad qualities ; but as, in 
Thor's judgment, the good were by far the more 
prominent, he would not listen to his father's ad- 
vice and leave his friend behind him when he went 
down to the judge's at the grand estate. 

It was the day after New-year's that Thor left 
the cottage up under the mountain, and, putting 


M I R K E L . 


on his skees,* slid down the steep hill-side to the 
fiord. Mikkcl was nestling, according to his 
wont, in the bosom of his master's coat, while his 
pretty head, with the clean dark snout and dark 
mustache, was sticking out above the boy's collar, 
just under his chin. Mikkel had never been so 
far away from home before, and he concluded that 
the world was a bigger affair than he had been 
aware of. 

It was with a loudly thum])ing heart that Thor 
paused outside tire door of the judge's office, 
for he greatly feared that the judge might share 
the general prejudice against Mikkel, and make 
difficulties about his board and lodgings. Instead 
of entering, he went to the pump in the yard and 
washed his friend's face carefully and combed his 
hair with the fragment of a comb with which his 
mother had presented him at parting. It was 
important that Mikkel should appear to advantage, 
so as to make a good impression upon the judge. 
And really he did look irresistible, Thor thought, 
with his bright, black eyes, his dainty paws, and 
his beautiful red skin. He felt satisfied that if the 
judge had not a heart of stone he could not help 
being captivated at the sight of so lovely a creat- 
ure. Thor took courage and knocked at the door. 

"Ah, you are our new office-boy," said the 
judge, as he entered ; " but what is that you have 
under your coat ? " 

"It is Mikkel, sir, please your Honor," stam- 
mered Thor, putting the fox on the floor, so as to 
display his charms. But hardly had he taken his 
hands off him, when a sudden scrambling noise 
was heard in the adjoining office, and a large 
hound came bounding with wild eyes and drooping 
tongue through the open door. With lightning 
speed Mikkel leaped up on the judge's writing- 
desk, scattering his writing materials, upsetting an 
inkstand by an accidental whisk of his tail, be- 
spattering the honorable gentleman's face and 
shirt-front with the black fluid. To perform a 
similar service on the next desk, where a clerk was 
writing, to jump from there to the shoulder of 
a marble bust, which fell from its pedestal down 
on the hound's head and broke into a dozen 
pieces, and to reach a place of safety on the top of 
a tall book-case were all a moment's work. The 
hound lay howling with a wounded nose on the 
floor. The judge stood scowling at his desk, rub- 
bing the ink all over his face with his handker- 
chief, and Mikkel sat smiling on the top of the 
book-case, surveying calmly the ruin which he had 
wrought. But the most miserable creature in the 
room was neither the judge, with his black face. 

nor the hound, with the bleeding nose ; it was 
Thor, who stood trembling at the door, expecting 
that something still more terrible would happen. 
And knowing that after having caused such a com- 
motion his place was forfeited, he held out his 
arms to Mikkel, who accepted the invitation, and 
with all speed at their disposal they rushed out 
through the door and away over the snowy fields, 
scarcely knowing whither their feet bore them. 

After half an hour's run, when he had no more 
breath left, Thor seated himself on a tree-stump 
and tried to collect his thoughts. What should he 
now do ? Where should he turn ? Go home he 
could not; and if he did, it would be the end of 
Mikkel. The only thing he could think of was to 
go around in the parish, from farm to farm, until 
he found somebody who would give him something 
to do. 

" I hope you will appreciate, my dear Mikkel," 
he said to his fox, "that it is on your account I 
ha^■e all this trouble. It was very naughty of you 
to behave so badly, and if you do it again I shall 
have to whip you ! Do you understand that, 

ISIikkel looked sheepish, which plainly showed 
that he understood. 

"Now, Mikkel," Thor continued, "we will go 
to the parson ; perhaps he may have some use for 
us. What do you think of trying the parson ? " 

Mikkel apparently thought well of the parson, 
for he licked his master behind his ear and rubbed 
his snout against his cheek. Accordingly, by noon 
they reached the parsonage, and after a long parley 
with the pastor's wife, he was engaged as a sort of 
errand-boy, whose duty it should be to do odd jobs 
about the house. Mikkel was to have a kennel pro- 
vided for him in the stable, but was under no cir- 
cumstances to enter the house. Thor had to vouch 
for his good behavior, and the moment he made 
himself in any way obnoxious it was decided that 
he should be killed. Poor Thor had nominally to 
accept these hard conditions, but in his own mind 
he determined to run away with Mikkel the 
moment he was caught in any kind of mischief. 
It seemed very hard for Mikkel, too, who had been 
accustomed to sleep in Thor's arms in his warm bed, 
to be chained, and to spend the long, dark nights 
in the stable in a miserable kennel. Nevertheless, 
there was no help for it ; so Thor went to work 
that same afternoon and made Mikkel as comfort- 
able a kennel as he could, taking care to make the 
hole which served for entrance no bigger than it 
had to be, so that no dog or other enemy should 
be able to enter. 

( To be concluded.) 

* Norwegian snow-shoes, made to slide o\ er the surface of the snow. They are nearly six feet long, about the breadth of the foot, and 
polished on the under side. In the middle there is a band for the foot, and sometimes a little knob to steady the heel. They have to 
be made of tough wood, well seasoned. 




By Frank R. Stockton. 



It is not by any means a humble city to which 
I am now about to conduct you ; it is an old city, 
which from time to time has been as proud as any 
in the world ; it is Genoa, called by the Italians 
La Superba, because of its many magnificent pal- 
aces, and because of its imposing appearance, as 
it rises in terraces above its bay on the side of a 
crescent-shaped hill. It was called Genoa, so say 
the people who make it their business to look into 
these things, from the Latin word gemi, a knee ; 
because at the place where the city stands, the land 
is bent around the water so as to give the latter 
the shape of a bended knee. 

As I have said, Genoa has been a proud city. 
As far back as the days of the Romans it was an 
important sea-port. It was independent, and gov- 

* For a description of the Pont du Card, see the opening 

erned itself, and its power increased greatly. Other 
towns looked up to it for protection against the 
Saracen pirates ; and it acquired possession, not 
only of islands in the Mediterranean, but of lands 
and ports in the East ; its commerce was very 
extensive, and it took a prominent part in the 
crusades. It made war against Pisa, and utterly 
defeated the navy of that city ; and there is reason 
to believe that the great tower of Pisa has never 
stood up straight since. 

But, in spite of its wealth and its power, Genoa 
has been obliged to bend the knee about as 
often as any city that I know of. In the tenth 
century it knelt down to the Saracens, who cap- 
tured it ; and afterward it bent its knee to Venice, 
its great rival in commerce. For many years its 
nobles were arrayed against each other as Guelphs 
and Ghibellines, and whenever either party was 
defeated, it would call in some foreign power to 
help it : and in this way the city, at different times, 

paper of this series in the last number of St. Nichol.\s. 




fell under the control of various kings and princes 
of Europe. The Turks took away its Eastern 
possessions, and long afterward it was captured by 
Germany, and was twice taken possession of by 
France. It now belongs to the United Kingdom 
of Italy. But, although it is no longer independent, 
Genoa stands up very erect in its own estimation ; 
and it has a right to do so, for it is the first com- 
mercial city in Italy. 

Genoa is a bright and lively place, \vherc the 
people seem to keep awake all day, and there are 
a great many things to see there. An American 
boy or girl could not go into any part of the city 
without finding something interesting. We will 
first visit some of the palaces, and on our way we 
will pass through the street of the goldsmiths. 
Genoa is almost as much celebrated for a peculiar 
kind of gold and silver work as it is for its palaces, 
and we shall wish to stop and look at the shop 
windows in this busy little street. There are 
no sidewalks, but the whole street is a footway 
paved with large smooth flag-stones, and if a car- 
riage or wagon appears in it, it moves slowly among 
the people. Nearly every little shop belongs to a 
goldsmith, as they are called, although they work 
more in silver than in gold, and the productions 
of these artisans consist almost entirely of small 
articles and ornaments made of fine silver wire, 
often gilded, and woven into the most delicate and 
beautiful shapes. Work like this is not to be seen 
in such perfection anywhere as in Genoa. Some 
of the shops are entirely open in front, so that you 
can stand in the street and look at the large cases 
filled with this fairy-like gold and silver work, and 
if you wish to buy some of the articles, you will 
find that they are not at all costly. 

From this street we turn into another, with tall 
houses on each side, and shops and people every- 
where. We soon pass an immense house which 
was once a palace, but is now used for other pur- 
poses. Looking up, we see that one of the great 
windows in the second story is open, and a lady is 
sitting at it. She is dressed in very bright, though 
somewhat old-fashioned, attire. Flowers and vines 
cluster inside the window, and there is a hanging 
cage with a bird. As we stop and look at her, the 
lady does not move, and in a few minutes we per- 
ceive that the window, the lady, the open shutters, 
the sash, the flowers, and the cage are all painted 
on the wall in a space where you would naturally 
expect to find a window. This used to be a favorite 
way of decorating houses in Italy, and in Genoa we 
shall frequently see these painted windows, some 
closed, and some partly open, some with one per- 
son looking out, some with two, and some with 
none. The lady at this window has sat and looked 
out on the street for hundreds of years. Under 

her window, into the great entrance of the palace, 
used to pass nobles and princes. Now there are 
shops in the lower part of the palace, and you can 
have your shoes mended by a cobbler in the court- 

We soon reach the street which contains the 
greatest number of palaces, and which is now 
called the Via Garibaldi ; and here we should 
stop to take a look at the outside of some of 
the palaces of the Middle Ages. They are but 
little injured by time, and look very much as they 
did when they were inhabited by the nobles of 
the sixteenth century. One of the first things 
which will strike some of us in regard to these 
palaces is the total absence of front doors, or 
doors opening on the street. It is not the custom 
in Europe to build houses of any pretension with 
doors on a public thoroughfare. These great 
Genoese palaces, often five or six stories high, 
are built around a central court, which is entered 
by an archway from the street. Carriages go 
through this archway, and people walk through it, 
and they find doors enough when they get into 
the court-yard, which is often large and hand- 
some, and adorned with fountains and statuary. 
The ground floor is devoted to offices, and serv- 
ants. On what we would consider the second story, 
but which in Europe is called the first floor, these 
palaces frequently contain great picture-galleries, 
consisting of long suites of rooms filled with valu- 
able paintings; and in the third, fourth, and 
sometimes even in the fifth story, are the domes- 
tic apartments of the family. These palaces are 
as large as our great hotels, and there are no 
elevators to take people to the upper floors ; but 
Europeans do not mind going upstairs ; and the 
upper floors are often considered the most desirable 
of all. 

The staircases, which sometimes open from the 
court and sometimes from the inside of the 
building, are great features of Genoese palaces, 
many of which are worth going to see simply 
on account of their grand and imposing stair- 
ways, which have been designed by celebrated 
architects. They are always of marble or stone, 
and this fashion prevails in large houses all over 
southern Europe. An Italian lady once said to me 
that she had heard a very strange thing about 
America, and that was that our staircases were 
built of wood ; and when I told her that was the 
case, she said she did not see how we could ever 
be wiUing to go to sleep in a house with wooden 
stair-ways ; for, if the)' were to take fire, how 
could we get out? Houses on the continent of 
Europe are much safer than ours in case of fire. 
In Italy it is seldom that a large dwelling is 
burned down ; for as walls, floors, and stairs are 



almost entirely stone or brick, there is very little 
to burn. 

We can not go into all the palaces in this street; 
for, although it is quite short, it contains over a 
dozen of them. Some of the Genoese palaces 
are still occupied by members of the noble fami- 
lies for whom they were built in the sixteenth 

tures, and find other floors, and seemingly endless 
suites of other rooms, many of them of much 
beauty and magnificence, — we wonder how one 
family could ever have needed so many rooms, 
and so grand a house that must have cost so much 
money. But we must remember that these nobles 
had great numbers of servants and adherents, who 


L if; till ii\ fti!ltr^I ..I pJ^'-'" li '~~ ''^^ 


4 I mr'-^''- 

1 B _ii 


century, but visitors are generally admitted to 
portions of all of them, especially the picture- 
galleries. As we walk through room after room 
of these immense edifices, the walls covered with 
valuable pictures and the ceilings painted by 
celebrated artists, and then mount grand stair- 
ways adorned with ancient and modern sculp- 

VOL. XII. ^9. 

all lived in the palace ; and they entertained, be- 
sides, many visitors, so that their families were 
very much larger than any of those to which we are 
accustomed, even the very richest and most im- 
portant of us. One of the grandest palaces in this 
street is now called the Palazzo del .Municipio. for 
it belongs to the city. Another magnificent one 




is the Palazzo Rosso, so called because it is built 
of red stone ; and, nearly opposite, is the Palazzo 
Bianco, or white palace. 

But the Via Garibaldi, called in old times the 
Via Nuova, or new street, does not contain, by 
any means, all the great palaces of Genoa. In the 
Via Baibi, near by, are many of these palatial build- 
ings, and, among them, the Royal Palace, which 
is occupied by the King and Queen of Italy when 
they happen to be in Genoa. In the great en- 
trance archway we see some soldiers and a porter, 
or custodian, dressed in uniform ; and if we look 
as if we would give him a franc when we come out, 
this latter personage will conduct us through the 
palace, provided, of course, that the royal owners, 
who usually reside in Rome, are not there. We all 
wish to know how kings and queens live, and so 
we go through the rooms of this palace ; the grand 
saloons, and the smaller ones, the dining-halls, the 
Queen's bed-chamber, and the King's bed-chamber. 
Here is the furniture they use, and the beds they 
sleep on. Everything is very sumptuous and hand- 
some, but we notice that the King's bedstead, 
which is of iron, richly gilt, looks old, with some 
of the ornaments rubbed off. If King Humbert 
were one of our rich men, he would probably have 
a new bedstead ; but, as he does not come very 
often to Genoa, he doubtless considers this good 
enough. I think you all will agree that in this 
palace, as well as in many others, there is nothing 
that seems to us very cozy, according to our ideas 
of such things. The floors are of rich marble, or 
tiles, and the furniture, though magnificent and 
costly, appears stiff and too orderly. But in win- 
ter carpets and rugs are laid down, no doubt ; and 
when the King and Queen are here the tables and 
chairs are probably pulled around a little and 
things appear more homelike. 

In the Pallavacini Palace, which is even finer 
than that of the King, after passing through a 
number of stately apartments, all cold and splen- 
did, we are shown into a sitting-room, occupied by 
the family in the afternoons and evenings, which is 
carpeted, and looks almost as comfortable as some 
of our rooms at home. But among the ornaments 
and bric-a-brac in this apartment is a wonderful 
silver vase, by the celebrated Benvenuto Cellini, 
which is something not to be found in our sitting- 

The last palace we shall visit is the Doria Palace, 
the most interesting in the city ; and on our way 
there we meet a gentleman we know. Every one 
of us is acquainted with him, and we all feel under 
great obligations to him. He is very tall and pale, 
but his figure is grand and imposing, and he stands 
up high, where everybody can see him. It is 
Christopher Columbus, — and where should we 

Americans have been without him ! It gives us a 
strange sensation, in this Italian city, with its queer 
streets and tall palaces and its unfamiliar sights of 
every kind, to come upon this statue of good old 
Columbus, whom we have all known so well from 
our earliest childhood, and whom we have been 
accustomed to look upon somewhat in the light of 
the grandfather of our country. The Genoese think 
a great deal of Columbus, who was born in this 
neighborhood, you may remember, although they 
did not do much for him when he was alive. But 
there are always people who are willing to honor a 
successful man after some one else has given him a 
chance to show what he can do. At the foot of the 
statue is a kneeling figure representing our country 
thanking Columbus for having discovered her ; 
and the whole stands in a beautiful open square. 
There are other mementos of Columbus in the 
city, and in the Municipal Palace two of his letters 
are preserved. 

At a little distance stands the palace to which 
we are going, which was presented by the city, in 
the year 1522, to the famous Admiral Andrea 
Doria, who, by his naval victories, gave peace and 
safety to Genoa, and who was called the Father 
of his Country. The Admiral was not far from 
sixty years old when this grand palace was pre- 
sented to him, and it might have been supposed 
that he would not have many years in which to 
enjoy it. But the situation seems to have agreed 
very well with him, for he lived to the age of ninety- 
five. This palace is somewhat different in plan 
from the others in Genoa ; and we first enter a long 
portico, or loggia, which looks out upon an exten- 
sive and beautiful garden with summer-houses. 
Mounting to the first floor, we walk into the 
great entrance-hall, on the walls and ceiling of 
which are fresco-paintings by Del Vaga, a famous 
pupil of Raphael. We enter room after room, 
with the ceilings and walls covered with paint- 
ings and decorations ; and one of these, a small 
apartment, is so painted as to give the idea 
that it is partly in ruins. There are vacant 
places in the ceiling from which stones seem to 
have tumbled out, vines creep through wide 
crevices, and on the top of broken places in the 
walls there sit owls and other birds. A person, not 
understanding the fancies and freaks of old-time 
architects and artists, might be a little startled on 
entering this room, and might imagine that if he 
shook the floor with his tread the walls and roof 
would come tumbling down upon him. In an 
apartment, called the Titan Hall, is a portrait of 
the old Admiral and his favorite cat, wherein the 
cat looks as if she enjoyed the palace quite as 
much as her master. Here, too, are the chairs in 
which Doria used to sit, and many other articles 


of his furniture. On one side of the house is a 
long room, the outer wall of which is of glass. 
Here the old gentleman could walk up and down 
when the sun shone, and look out upon his great 
gardens and his villa, which stood upon a terraced 
hill opposite, as well as upon the beautiful harbor 
of Genoa, and — at the same time — be as comfort- 
able as if he were sitting before the fire. This 
palace still belongs to members of the Admiral's 
family, but they live in a vast square palace in 

Opening from one of the piazzas or squares, 
which are found everywhere in Genoa, is a little 
street called a salita, which is probably different 
from any street you ever saw before. It is but a 
few feet wide, and consists of a series of broad 
steps, paved with cobble-stones, which lead us 
downward for a long distance to a little piazza 
nearly surrounded by tall houses ; on one side of 
which stands the small dark church of San Matteo. 
This is where old Admiral Uoria used to go to 
church. Over the altar hangs the long sword he 
once wore, and in a vault below he is buried. 
The little church is filled with beautiful sculptures 
and works of art, and on the outside are many 
inscriptions relating to the Doria family, some of 
whom attended service here at least two centuries 
before the Admiral was born. 

There are a good many churches in Genoa, 
and most of them are very difterent from this dark 
little building. One of them, the Cathedral, is a very 
large and old edifice, built of black and white mar- 
ble, and in it, carefully guarded, is a cup or vase, 
said to be the Holy Grail, or the cup used by 
Christ and his disciples at the Last Supper. This 
was captured in the Holy Land, by the Genoese, 
during the Crusades. People who wish to believe 
that this cup is the Holy Grail, do so, and those 
who do not, do not. Another church, Santa An- 
nunziata, which is now attended by the rich people 
of Genoa, is gorgeously ornamented, and has 
the greater portion of its ceiling covered with pure 

When we enter any of these churches we do not 
open a door, but are obliged to push aside a corner 
of a great heavy leathern curtain, which hangs in 
the door-way. There is always an old woman or a 
poor old man to pull aside this curtain for us, in 
exchange for a copper ; and inside we find a sacris- 
tan, or sexton, fond of a little silver, who will show 
us everything in the church. 

Genoa is, as I have said, the great commercial 
city of Italy, having now outstripped her former 
rival, Venice, in this respect ; and the large har- 
bor is a very lively and interesting place. In 
order to see it to the best advantage, we go upon 
a broad marble terrace, built high above the 

crowded streets, and extending for half a mile 
along the harbor. This terrace, which was con- 
structed for the purpose of giving the citizens a 
promenade by the water-front, where they would 
not be interfered with by the crowds of people 
and vehicles in that part of the town, is about 
forty feet wide, and the floor is very smooth, so that 
persons may often be seen here skating on roller- 
skates. It is a delightful place on which to enjoy 
the fresh sea air, and to look down on the harbor, 
stretching far out before us, crowded with steam- 
ers, sailing-vessels, and small boats, and shut in by 
long moles, or walls, with light-houses on them. 

Any one who likes to see sailors can have a fine 
opportunity of seeing them in Genoa. In the busy 
streets near the harbor are to be found hundreds 
of mariners from every part of the world. Here 
they stand and sit about and talk and smoke, 
and some of the old fellows look as if they had 
lived nearly as long as the famous Admiral him- 
self These sailors, many of whom wear red 
woolen caps, and gay sashes around their waists, 
have often a piratical look ; and it is said that it 
is not always safe for strangers to wander among 
them in certain parts of the town. But there are 
so many of us that we can go where we please. 

There are plenty of youngsters, boys and girls, 
to be seen about the harbor, in which place the 
idea probably came into the head of the boy 
Columbus that he would like to be a sailor, and 
see what was to be seen in other parts of the 
world ; and for aught we know, some of the rough- 
looking little fellows whom we see sitting on the 
posts, or running up and down the stone steps 
which, in some places, lead to the higher parts 
of the town, may yet turn out to be hardy naviga- 
tors. But there are no more continents for them 
to discover, — unless, indeed, they go into the 
Arctic or Antarctic regions, where the climate, I 
fear, w^ould not suit a Genoese. 

Near the marble terrace, at one end, is an old 
building, which used to be considered one of the 
most important houses in the world. It was 
the bank of San Giorgio, a great banking-house 
of the Middle Ages. In the time of the Crusades 
it furnished money to the bold knights who went 
out to recover the Holy Land from the Saracens, 
and for centuries it was a most wealthy and power- 
ful institution. No matter what happened to the 
Republic of Genoa, whether the Guelphs or the 
(jhibellines were uppermost, whether she was 
ruled by her own nobles, or Doges, or whether 
outside potentates were called in to take part in 
her government, the great bank of San Giorgio 
always stood firm. It owned large possessions in 
Corsica and other places, and there was a time 
when there was reason to believe that if it had 




not been for foreign wars it would have acquired 
possession of the whole of the little republic. But 
now the old building is no longer a bank, and the 
great painting of St. George on horseback, which 
adorns the wall facing the sea, has been almost 
worn away by the rain and salt breezes of hun- 
dreds of years. It is now used as a Custom-house, 
and we can go inside and see statues and pictures 
of some of the famous men of Genoa ; but it is 
much more interesting, if we can do it, to imagine 
that we see tall knights, with a great cross em- 
broidered on their clothes, coming in to talk to 
the officers of the bank about the money that is to 
take them to Jerusalem. 

If we wish to see for ourselves how Genoa ob- 
tained its name, we can go to the church of Santa 
Maria in Carignano, a stately edifice on a high 
hill, and ascend to the upper part of the great 
dome. From this high point we can see the whole 
city spread out beneath us ; the surrounding coun- 
try, with its hills, its groves, and its villas, and a 
line of fortifications nine miles long, with its forts 

and ramparts ; while to the south, the bright blue 
Mediterranean stretches far anay. And when our 
eyes have taken in all the landscape we see how 
the water comes into the land in the shape of the 
bended knee. 

When we have walked through the lively and 
crowded streets of Genoa ; when we have been in 
the small piazza in front of the Exchange, filled 
with men, talking and clamoring about the price 
of stocks and that sort of thing as earnestly as if 
they were in Wall street ; and when we have vis- 
ited the new Galleria Mazzini, a long passage, like 
a wide street, used only by foot-passengers, cov- 
ered the whole length by a high roof of glass, and 
lined on each side by handsome shops, and alto- 
gether very agreeable for a walking or shop- 
ping expedition in wet weather, we will go to a 
place visited by nearly every one who comes to 
Genoa, which is not at all lively or bustling, but 
very much crowded. This is a cemetery called the 
Campo Santo, or Holy Field. But we must post- 
pone our journey through this until another time. 


' JO 

Bv J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter IV. 

The sun was just beginning to shine over the 
wooded hills and hazy pasture-land ; for it was now 
September, the month of rapidly shortening days. 

Kit found a few people astir in the village, and 
met two or three teams on the road ; but no one 
had seen Dandy Jim and his rider. Then a milk- 
man overtook him, and gave him a ride of a mile, 
but had to turn off on a by-road, while Kit fol- 
lowed the tracks. These were fast becoming 
obliterated ; but by searching carefully at forks 
and crossings, he could still see enough of them 
to decide which direction the rogue had taken. 

He got another ride in a farmer's wagon ; and 
afterward hung on behind a carriage that was go- 
ing his way ; thus getting over much of the ground 
about as fast, he thought, as if he had a horse of 
his own. The morning was pleasant; the air cool 
and sweet after the shower; the roadsides were or- 
namented with golden-rods and asters ; while here 
and there a sapling or sumach by the fences, or a 
trailing woodbine on the rough stone walls, touched 
the landscape with the first bright hues of autumn. 
But for the great anxiety attending it. Kit would 
have enjoyed his journey, on such a day, amid 
these smiling farms. 

The road he was on was a great thoroughfare 
leading to Boston, forty miles away ; and he was 
not long in making up his mind that the rogue 
had gone thither to dispose of the horse. It was 
a discouraging prospect for a boy of sixteen, with 
less than a dollar in his pocket, and with no friends, 
whose influence he could enlist in his behalf, on 
the way or in the city itself But it would be 
something, at least, to know what course Dandy's 
rider had taken. 

About four miles from home he came to a fork 
in the highway, and dropped off from behind the 
carriage (not without regret) to trace the tracks. 
They had quite disappeared, either obliterated by 
the increasing travel or, as Kit thought more 
probable, because the thief had turned off on the 
turf to baffle pursuit. 

He was carefully looking for them in the sand 
and in the still wet grass, when a farm-boy came 
along, of whom he made the usual inquiry : " Have 
you seen anything of a man on a dark-brown horse, 
almost black, with a braided forctop ? " 

"The man almost black, with a braided fore- 
lop ? " said the young fellow, with a grin. 

"No; the horse. I can't describe the man," 
replied Kit, irritated by such untimely levity. 

" 1 did n't know but you meant the man," said 
the fellow; "and I did n't want to answer your 
question unless I could do it straight and square. 
An almost black hoss, with a braided foretop, and 
a rider? " 

"Yes; with little roundish mottles of a lighter 
brown, about as big as your thumb, along the 
under side of his bodv." 

" The rider ? " incpiired the boj-. 

" No ; the horse," said Kit, indignantly; though 
he had wit enough of his own to laugh at the fel- 
low's drollery afterward. 

"Was he trottin' or cantenn' ? — 1 mean the 
hoss," the wag added, as if anxious to avoid fur- 
ther misunderstanding. 

Kit explained that Dandy a trotter, being 
more accustomed to the harness than the saddle, 
but that he could gallop when urged. 

" But, trotting or galloping," he demanded. 
" have you seen any horse at all?" 

" Yes, 1 have." 

" A dark-brown one ? " 

" Rather dark ; though 1 did n't notice th; 
braided foretop and the mottles." 

" With a rider ? " cried Kit, eagerly. 

" No, he had n't any rider ; he was one of a pair 
ahead of a two-hoss wagon," was the disappoint- 
ing answer; and Kit turned again to look for the 
tracks, angrily resolved to waste no more words 
on so unpromising a subject. 

"What have ye lost? "said the fellow. "Can 
1 do anything for ye ? " 

" Not unless you answer my questions seriously, 
if you answ er them at all. 1 have lost a horse ; 
and I should think you might do as you would like 
to have me do by you, if you were in my place." 

" Sho ! Why did n't you say so before ? I did 
n't know you 'd lost a hoss ! " 

" You might have known ; 1 was inquiring for 

" Have you lost a rider, too ? You was inquirin' 
for a rider with the hoss. " 

Kit changed the topic abruptly. 

"Which of these two roads goes to Boston?" 
he asked. 

" Don't neither on 'em go to Boston ; they stay 
right where they be," said the funny boy. 

" That 's a pretty old joke," said Kit ; " and un- 
less you can think of a fresh one, you 'd better not 




try to joke at all. The thief is probably on his way 
to Boston, and 1 want to know which road to take 
to find him." 

" Take either on 'em, and you '11 most likely 
find he 's taken t' other, for they are both roads to 
Boston," said the rural joker. 

He was speaking the truth about the general 
direction of the roads, however ; and he afterward 
atoned for his impertinence by joining m the search 
for Dandy's tracks. 

"Here; what's this ?" he cried. Kit hastened 
to see ; and there, cutting through the thin 

look for tracks at the crossings they passed. At 
one of these a drove of cattle had come into the 
highway, — as if they had been invented on purpose, 
Kit said, to follow and cover up all traces of the 
stolen horse. A mile or two farther on he descried 
a cloud of dust in the distance, and exclaimed : 

"There's the drove of cattle!" The man 
touched up his horse, and they soon came up with a 
drover, to whom, as he was urging on the laggards 
of the herd. Kit put his usual question. 

" Yes ; I 've seen sich a hoss — Whay ! shoo ! " 
said the drover, cracking his whip at a yearling by 


turf of the roadside into the brown sandy loam 
beneath, the prints of Dandy's hoofs re-appeared, 
— or some extremely like them. 

"Thank you ever so much," exclaimed Kit, 
heartily forgiving the fellow's waggery. " This is 
the way he has gone ! " And he was off again. 

He next made inquiries and begged a ride of a 
man driving in a light carry-all ; and he was en- 
couraged on finding everybody so ready to help 
him when his story was told, even the roadside 
wag having hardly proved an exception. 

The man in the carry-all agreed with him that 
the rogue had probably gone to Boston with the 
horse ; nevertheless, he stopped to allow Kit to 

the fence. "Jest after daylight this — go 'long 
there! will ye? " — (crack, crack!) — "this mornin'." 

Kit's heart gave a leap of expectation, and he 
described more particularly Dandy's marks. 

"It was skurcely light enough for me — whay 
there ! ho ! ho ! — for me to notice the mottles on 
his sides ; but I remember the — git along, now ! 
— the braided foretop," the drover interruptedly 

" Where was he ? " Kit eagerly asked. 

"Six or eight miles back — Gee! git!" said the 
drover, impartially addressing Kit and the cattle. 

" Before you struck this road ? " put in the man 
in the carrv-all. 

1884. J 


" Long afore. We had jest got the drove 
started. Whoop ! Jerusalem ! Boys, look out for 
the gap in that fence ! " 

"What sort of a chap was riding him?" Kit 
asked, in a fever of excitement. 

" A youngish chap, not much more 'n twenty, I 
should jedge — hillo! hillo! — A fair-spoken feller; 
nothin' partic'larly noticeable about him. He 
wanted to sell me the hoss, and turned and rode 
with me — hish ! 'sh ! — for half a mile or so. 
'T wa' n't so dusty then as 't is now." (Crack, 
crack ! went the drover's whip.) 

" How was he dressed ? " Kit continued. 

" Re'ly, I can't tell: 1 didn't give much 'ten- 
tion to him ; but I kin' o' looked the hoss over, — 
vvhish ! ho ! — He offered him dog-cheap." 

" How cheap ! " cried Kit. 

" He offered him for fifty dollars." 

" Dandy Jim for fifty dollars ! " 

" I 've got the chink right here in my pocket," 
said the drover, pausing to wipe away the dust 
under his black felt hat. "But I was jealous 
everything wa'n't jest ship-shape; feller stumpin' 
me for a trade that time in the mornin', an' offerin' 
a beast for less 'n half he 's wuth. Should n't 
wonder if you could overhaul him, for he '11 be 
offerin' his hoss along on the by-roads." 

Kit had thought it a great good fortune to get a 
ride of two or three miles with the man in the 
carry-all; and indeed it was, for it had enabled 
him to obtain this positive information from the 
drover ; but now he had to turn back on his 
course, which he hurriedly prepared to do, having 
asked a few more questions, and thanked both 
men for their assistance. 

" You 're welcome, far 's I 'm concerned," said 
the drover, wielding his whip, and shouting again, 
" Ho ! hillo ! VVhish ! Jerusalem ! git along there ! " 
as he followed the cattle, and the cloud of dust. 

" I 'd like no better fun than to drive with you, 
and help run down the horse-thief, if I had time," 
said the man in the carry-all. "You 've only to 
follow back the cattle-tracks to the yard they left 
at day-break, and it wont be long before you hear 
of the rogue again. Good-bye ! and luck to you ! " 

With hopes stronger than ever, if not of over- 
hauling the thief, at least of finding where he 
disposed of the horse. Kit set off on a run to return 
to the cross-road. He had slackened his speed to 
a walk long before he reached it, and he followed 
it more and more wearily until noon. 

Beyond the yard where the cattle had been 
penned for the night, he thought he could make 
out Dandy's hoof-prints again ; but they were 
bafiflingly uncertain, and he soon gave up trying 
to trace them. Nor could he by inquiring hear 
anything of the horse or its rider. 

{To be c 

" I suppose people along here were hardly 
stirring when he passed," thought he, as he kept 
on, still without losing hope. "Or may be he 
wished to go farther away before offering to sell 
Dandy to anybody but a passing drover." 

He turned off at forks and crossings to look for 
tracks and make inquiries, but always came back 
to the road he was following, after losing time and 
strength and patience in these fruitless excursions. 
He was growing quite disheartened and bewil- 
dered, when he came to some stone-layers eating 
their dinner beside an unfinished bank wall. 

" We have been at work here since half-past six 
this morning," said one of them, "and we have 
seen no man on horseback." 

Kit sat down on a stone with a weary sigh. 

"What could have become of him?" he said, 
thinking aloud rather than addressing the men. 
" It must have been near six when he left the 
drover ; and I don't believe Dandy could have 
traveled so far as this in half an hour. 1 don't 
know what to do ! " 

He had eaten his bread and butter while driving 
with the man in the carry-all ; and now he could 
not help looking wistfully at the boiled eggs the 
men cracked on the edges of their dinner-pails. He 
was glad, however, they did not offer him what 
he would have been ashamed to accept, and 
yet might not have had the resolution to refuse. 

"I tell you what I think," said one, at last; 
" 1 think I have seen your man." 

"When? Where?" Kit asked quickly. 

"You know, boys, when 1 went for the drill. Com- 
ing through Hillard's grove, I was near stumbling 
over a man stretched out fast asleep on the ground, 
while a hoss was grazing in a grassy hollow. I think 
that was your man, and I think that was your hoss." 

Kit thought so, too, so surely that he forgot all 
about his hunger and weariness and waning hopes, 
and was on his feet again in an instant plying the 
stone-layer with questions. 

"He sat up, and put on his hat, which had 
fallen off where he slept, and looked at me saucy- 
like ; but as I said nothing to him he said nothing 
to me. Yes, it was a darkish hoss, with a saddle, 
and his bridle was slipped back on his neck, with 
the reins made fast to a loose branch on the 
ground, to keep him from walking away. It was 
about three hours ago, and that is the grove, in 
sight, yonder; you 've just come past it." 

The speaker had not noticed Dandy's distin- 
guishing marks ; but there could not be much 
doubt that the horse he had seen was Dandy him- 
self. He told Kit how to find a grass-grown wagon- 
track leading into the woods, and the grassy 
hollow where he had seen the grazing animal and 
the sleeping man. 

'itinued. ) 


THE king's feast IN RUFUS's HALL. 


By Rev. Henry Augustus Adams. 

In the good old days of merry England the 
Yule-tide festivities greatly surpassed our present 
Christmas celebrations in splendor. 

We all have read about the wild ringing of the 
bells, the troups of singers caroling in the crisp 
night air their quaint old Christmas ballads ; about 
the sumptuous feasting, the ceremony of bringing 
in the boar's head, and the mystic spell of the 
mistletoe bough. 

But now let me show you how the glad Christ- 
mas merry-making went on in the king's palace. 

Close by Westminster Abbey, where all of the 
English sovereigns are crowned, and where many 
of them lie buried, there stands a grand old build- 
ing known as Westminster Hall. It now forms a 
part of the Parliament Houses ; but it is nearly 
five hundred years older than any other part of the 

In the olden times the king's palace was at 
Westminster, and it was for this reason that 
William Rufus, the son of William the Conqueror, 
here built his great banqueting-hall in the year 1097, 
which was known as " Rufus's Roaring Hall," and 
later, " Westminster Hall." 

It is an immense stone-floored room stretching 
— when you stand in its center, — away from you, 
above you, around you on every side, until you 
feel quite lost in wonder. 

The old roof, with its great rafters of timber, 
reaching, unsupported by pillars, entirely over 
the hall, is the second largest in the world. 

What strange sights that old roof has looked 
down upon ! How many sounds have echoed 
through those vaults ! 

If we could have peeped in there on Christmas 
night six hundred and seventy years ago, we 
should have seen the old hall crowded with 
knights and ladies, pages, courtiers, and min- 
strels. Down the center stretched the great oaken 
table, groaning with good things ; while at the 
upper end, ui all his royal attire, sat the king. 
And the merry laugh went 'round, and the joy 
was unbounded ; and so was the king's bounty, — 
for the poor, as well as the rich, had enough and 
to spare that night. 

And yet this king was not a good king : King 
John, the brother of Richard the Lion-hearted, 
was a very bad man. 

King Henry III. used to have his great Christ- 
mas dinners in Rufus's Roaring Hall ; and once, 
when he himself was at his other palace, at Win- 

chester, he did not forget the poor, but directed 
his treasurer to fill the great hall for one week 
from Christmas-day with poor people, and feast 
them there." 

The next king, Edward I., continued the Christ- 
mas feasting at Westminster Hall. His son — who 
was the first Prince of Wales — used to enjoy these 
merry times. 

King Edward III. was called a " right royal 
provider of Christmas cheer." If this meant that 
he was even more generous than his father, lavish, 
indeed, must those feasts have been. In fact, we 
still read of the rich " soups of the brawn of 
capons ; " of blanc-manges, tarts, and pies, and 
countless other good things, in the preparation of 
which his cooks excelled. But the years 1358 and 
1362 were especially blessed with festivities. The 
Christmas dinner in Rufus's Hall, on the former 
of these two years, was graced by the presence 
of three great kings. At the end sat the English 
monarch, with his crown upon his head ; on his 
right, the captive King of France ; on his left. 
King David of Scotland. 

At the next great feast these were joined by the 
King of Cyprus. The cooks did their best ; jellies 
of all colors, and in all shapes, of flowers, trees, 
beasts, fruit, fish, and fowl ; confections of cin- 
namon and ginger, and " grains of paradise," for 
dessert, — these, and other delicacies, did the king's 
grace (and the king's cooks) provide. 

But still greater feasts were coming ; for when 
King Richard II. ascended the throne, he outdid 
all his predecessors in his Christmas hospitality. 

The old hall had fallen into a very dilapidated 
state, and Richard rebuilt it, and there it stands 
to-day just as he finished it. 

An old chronicler tells us, that when the king 
completed the new hall he determined to give "a 
house-warming"; from all accounts it must have 
been a heart-warming to many a poor soul. 

Two thousand cooks prepared the feast, which 
ten thousand of the king's subjects were bidden to 
enjoy. The good king was attired in cloth-of-gold 
garnished with pearls and precious stones. 

The feasting, hospitality, and rejoicing continued 
throughout the entire week. It was a season of 
universal merriment and good-will. 

There is no palace at Westminster now, and 
there are no more banquets in the old hall. It 
was not until the times of Good Queen Bess that 
the Westminster celebrations came to an end. 

THE king's feast in rueus's haee. 137 

Each king strove to be merrier and more charitable Has the world forgotten that Christ was born ? 
than the last; but times have changed. This Have kings forgotten the poor? No. In r7'i-/y 
year, when the deep-toned Westminster clock home there is to be a feast. The pnor have Christ 

THE KlNi; 


peals out the ad\'cnt of the glad Christmas-day, 
it is dark in the banqueting hall. There are 
shadows only on the old. old roof; shadoivs on 
the old stone floor. The old kings are sleeping 
in the neighboring abbey. The voice of the min- 
strels is no longer heard. 

and Christmas in their own houses now. In the 
morning the church bells will ring. Millions of 
happy voices will call, '' Merry Christmas ! " Twice 
as many million twinkling eyes will peer into half 
as many million well-filled stockings. No need for 
kings and cooks to make us happy ! 


AMONG THE L A \\" - M A K E R S . [December, 


( Recollectiojis of a Page in the United States Setiate.) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter II. 


The second day of the session 1 began to feel 
at home, and in the course of a week con- 
sidered myself qualified to do anything required. 
I had to become familiar with all the various 
rooms and nooks and corners of the Capitol, 
and learn exactly where to go when sent upon a 
message. It became necessary for me to acquaint 
myself with every senator and officer of the Sen- 
ate, and this of itself was quite an undertaking. 
There were the Secretary of the Senate and a num- 
ber of gentlemen who attended to the clerical duties 
in connection with the proceedings of that body. 
Then there was the Sergeant-at-Arms, whose duty 
it was to execute the commands of the Senate in 
preserving order and punishing offenses, and he 
had quite a corps of assistants, among whom we 
pages counted ourselves not the least by any 
means. More formidable in numbers was the 
House of Representatives. I had to be about as 
well posted in regard to the members and officers 
of that body as of the Senate itself, because the 
senators were constantly writing notes to the 
representatives, and sending us on other messages 
to the other wing of the Capitol. And, furthermore, 
there was a large army of dignitaries, public offi- 
cials, and prominent citizens, who were constantly 
coming to the Capitol to visit or confer with con- 
gressmen, and it was useful to know the names 
and faces of as many of these as possible. 

The senators would send us on every conceiv- 
able sort of errand, and I found my store of 
information rapidly increasing each day. Occa- 
sionally, however, I would be puzzled. Some of 
the senators were rather reckless in their chirog- 
raphy, and frequently one of them would simply 
hand to me a letter or a scrap of paper with some 
writing on it, without saying anything at all, ex- 
pecting me to understand what he wished. I 
would turn these notes upside down, sideways, 
and corncrways, and could hardly tell from 
the hieroglyphics whether the words were good 
old Anglo-Saxon or Hebrew. If a fly had fallen 
into an ink-bottle, and, after being extricated, 
had walked over the paper on which such scrawls 
were written, dragging the ink after it, the tracks 
on its line of march could have been almost as 

* Copyright, 1884, by Edmu: 

readily translated into the English language. But, 
though I was very young and not especially pre- 
cocious, I studied these various eccentricities, or 
styles — I was about to say "systems" — of legisla- 
tive handwriting with such ardor, that I finally be- 
came able to read them all. So well known did 
this accomplishment of mine become, that I was 
frequently appealed to by persons about the Cap- 
itol to decipher wTitings of other people, and, 
strange as it may seem, senators have actually 
asked me to read their own marks which they 
themselves have been unable to recognize after 
making. I joked a senator about this one day, 
and told him I thought it was curi- 
ous he could not read his own hand- 
writing. He did not like to acknowl- 
edge this fact, and declared that he 

"Well," said I, picking up a letter 
which he had just written and which 
lay upon his desk, " I 'II wager, sir, 
you can't tell what word that is," and 
I put my two hands upon the sheet of 
paper so as to cover all of the writing 
except that particular word. 

" Oh," he exclaimed, as if I were 
doing an unreasonable thing in cover- 
ing up the other words, "take your 
hands away ! " 

But then he could not make out 
the word, even by the help of the 
others or the context of the letter, and 
laughingly admitted that he had for- 
gotten what the scratches were in- 
tended for. At another time, I saw 
on a desk a piece of paper that had on 
it a comical likeness or image of a 
human skeleton in miniature — a pro- 
file view of the skull, the ribs, and 
the other bones, even to the foot. I 
wondered who the senatorial artist was, and in 
handling the paper I chanced to turn it an- 
other way. And what do you think it was ? It 
was n't meant for a skeleton, after all. It was noth- 
ing else than a very hasty autograph of Senator 
George F. Edmunds. 

But even if the handwriting had been legible, 
the meaning of the inscriptions was frequently be- 
wildering. For example, how in the name of 
common sense was an ordinary mortal (and espe- 

nd Alton. All rights resen'ed. 




cially a young moi-tal, fresh from the pages of 
Shakspcare and Scott) to know that the memo- 
randum " H. 432 " meant that the senator wanted 
" House of Representatives Bill, No. 432 " ? Yet that 
was an easy enigma compared with some others. 

One useful rule of conduct, however, I learned 
at the very beginning of my experience — I never 
betrayed my ignorance to a senator. Had I done 
so, he might not have had sufficient confidence in 
my ability to entrust me with an important mes- 
sage, and might have called anotherj^age. If, there- 


But I always succeeded in doing it, and without 
waste of time on my part. Only once, during the 
whole term of four years that I was in the Senate, 
did a senator ever feel provoked at the manner in 
which I executed any order given to me. It was 
a memorable day. He was making a very im- 
portant argument, the galleries were packed, and 
every one was listening intently to what he was 
saying. In the course of his speech he had 
occasion to refer to a certain book, and, searching 
through the pile he had upon his table, found 
that the one he needed 
was not there. I was 
standing at the end of 
the clerk's desk, and, 
looking straight at me, 
he called out : 

" Bring me the third 
volume of the Trial of 
Queen Caro/hie.'' 

I supposed that he 
would not be able to 
proceed with his speech 
without the book, and 
I felt very anxious to 
bring it to him as quick- 
ly as possible. I knew 
the book very well, hav- 
ing had occasion to get 
it before, and that it was 
in the Law Library on 
the floor below, under- 
neath the room occupied 
by the Supreme Court. 
It was quite a distance, 
but I had my slippers 
on, and I almost flew 
through the marble cor- 
ridors, going down the 
winding stair-way in a 
manner that must have 
astonished people who 
saw me. Rushing into 

fore, a senator asked me to carry a dispatch to 
the House of Representatives and hand it to a cer- 
tain member, I would undertake the charge with 
perfect self-possession, and if I did not know the 
member, I would manage to find him by inquiry 
after I got to the House. Sometimes I would be 
sent for a certain book, and I would hardly know 
where to go for it — whether to the Senate Library, 
where are kept books only of a particular class, 
or to the Law Library, which contains works on 
purely legal subjects, or to the immense Congres- 
sional Library, including hundreds of thousands 
of volumes; and sometimes I would have to try 
each of these libraries before 1 could get the book. 

the room, gasping for breath, I said to the librarian : 

"Senator wants the third volume of the 

Trial of Queen Caroline, please." 

It was a book that he could have found and 
gi\ en to me in a very few moments, but for some 
reason or other he did not seem inclined to rise 
out of the chair in which he was sitting. .After 
waiting a short while and realizing that every mo- 
ment's delay detracted from my glory, I again 
appealed to him : 

" Wont you please get me the book ? The sen- 
ator is in the midst of a speech, and is waiting 
for it." But the librarian answered: "Well, he 
can wait." And then he continued to sit there, 




perfectly unconcerned, for 
fully five minutes. Soon, in 
came a page, who shouted 
to me very excitedly : " You 
'd better hurry up with that 
book ! " And the librarian 
merely smiled sardonically — 
"but never a word spake he." 

Two or three minutes »- 
later another page en- 
tered, more excited than 
the first, and I really be- 
lieve that, before the libra- 
rian condescended to get the 
book, nearly every page in 
the Senate was there to es- 
cort me back in disgrace to the Sen- 
ate Chamber. The errand would 
ordinarily have taken perhaps five 
minutes ; if the librarian had acted 
promptly, I believe I would have ac- 
complished it within three minutes ; 
as it was, the delay was at least fifteen 
minutes, and when I reached the Sen- 
ate, I hardly had the courage to give 
the book to the senator, who was sti 
speaking. As I approached him with 
it, he gave a majestic wave of his hand, 
saying very sharply and in a tone that 
was heard by every one : " You may 
take it back. 1 don't want it now." 
This made the tears come to my eyes. 
I knew I had done the best I could : 
yet all my good intentions and earnest 
effort went for naught. 1 suppose the 
spectators were unanimously of the 
ion that 1 was a vcr\' lazy an 
boy. Since that occurrence, ; 
battle with worldly affairs, I 
frequently been unjustly 
suspected and accused by 
people who knew nothing 
of the facts, but based their 
judgment merely upon ap- 
pearances, as in this case. But 
people who do not know the 
facts in any matter have 
hardly the right to form,? r: 
much less to express, an "^ 
unfavorable opinion of a fel- 
low-man. That is the way 
1 have always felt since I be 
came old enough to look at th 

And so, although 1 felt stun 
gritted my teeth and walked quietly to my 
place. 1 had made quite a reputation for bemg 

polite, and intelhgent, and the senator 
possibly feared he had hurt my feelings, 
when perhaps I had not merited such 
~ treatment, for after the Senate ad- 
journed he asked me the cause 
of the delay. I stated that I 
, had brought the book to him 
as soon as 1 could get it, but 
said nothing further, thinking that 
explanation sufficient. Some of 
the pages, however, who had clus- 
— tered about to hear the sena- 
tor scold me, here interposed, 
and told how the librarian had 
idly sat in his chair, apparently 
out of sheer wickedness. What 
the senator did, 1 do not know, 
but I heard that he gave the 
ibrarian a little discourse that 
was chiefly remarkable on account 
of its forcible adjectives. If so, 
1 presume the librarian regarded 
me as responsible for it ; but 1 
was not. 

It required considerable diplo- 
macy to execute many of the mis- 
sions committed to us without get- 
ting into difficulty. I have been 
sent on very important messages 
involving secrecy and tact, and have 
had to convey unpleasant informa- 
tion to ungentlemanly beings. My 
,„ duties threw me among people 
■ ' ' of all grades and conditions, 
i'' , from the President of the 

States to 
the humblest 
person in the land. 




People would come to the Senate and send in 
their cards to senators who did not wish to see 
them. Many of these were "bores," and we can not 
blame the legislators for declining to be bothered. 
But, on the contrary, I have often seen poor men 
and women haunting the doors of the Senate day 
after day, beseeching just one moment's interview, 
with an earnestness that always aroused my sym- 

Some of the senators, not knowing these people 
or not wishing to be troubled at the time, would 
give various excuses for not coming out. On one 
occasion a very pleasant-looking lady, who evidently 
wished assistance in some matter of great impor- 
tance to her, asked me to hand her card to a sena- 
tor, whose name I shall not mention, and I did as 
she requested. The senator looked at the card, 
and at once said : " Tell the lady I am very busy, 
and must ask her to excuse me." 

I accordingly gave the message to the lady. 
"But," I added, "if there is anythingyou desire to 
say to him, 1 shall be very glad to carry the mes- 
sage." She then explained that her husband was 
an invalid soldier and had what is known as a 
"pension claim" against the Government, and 
that, as a law of Congress was necessary before 
the claim could be paid, she wished some senator 
to introduce a "bill" (which is the first step to- 
ward a "law," as I will hereafter explain), in 
order that her family might get the money and 
relieve their urgent wants. She further stated 
that she was not acquainted with any members 
of the Senate or House, but had presumed to ap- 
ply to this senator, as he was from her State. 1 
then told her that I did not think he would be 
hkely to trouble himself much about the matter, 
but that, if she desired, I would speak to Sena- 
tor Pratt, who was Chairman of the Committee 
on Pensions of the Senate, and that as he was 
a very kind-hearted man I was sure he would 
assist her, although he was not one of the two 
senators from her State. She said that she 
would be grateful if 1 would help her in any 
way, as she did not know what to do. 1 took her 
papers and went to Senator Pratt, told him all 
about the case, and asked him if he would not do 
what he could. He said, "Where is the lady?" 
I told him she was waiting in the reception-room, 
and he replied, " Well, take me to her," which 1 
did. The result was that the senator introduced 
the bill for her, and that it passed through both 
Houses of Congress, was approved by the Presi- 
dent, became a law, and she got her money witnin 
a few weeks. 

It was thus very often in our power to aid stran- 
gers and others. I have many a time spoken with 
senators who refused to see deserving people 

seeking interviews, telling them that the applicants 
were old or delicate or some other facts to excite 
their interest, and the senators as often would 
change their minds and go out and see the persons. 

But while the pages could be considerate and 
obliging, they could also be otherwise, if their 
dignity were involved. We could be as "aggra- 
vating " as any boys can be, when we wished, and 
some folks must have thought us little demons. 
While we were employed to wait upon the 
senators, " outsiders " would encroach upon our 
good-nature and ask us to do things which they 
could do as well theinselves, and when, per- 
haps, we had our hands full of other work. We 
always refused to attend to these matters, if they 
were put in the shape of a demand instead 
of a request. There were several newspaper re- 
porters in the gallery over the Vice-President's 
chair, to which I have referred, who frequently 
ignored our rights. A reporter would wish to ask 
a question of a senator, and, not caring particularly 
to come down the stairs and send in his card, 
would drop a note from the gallery, expecting one 
of us to pick it up and hand it to the senator to 
whoin it was addressed. This was a rather officious 
request sometimes, as we were tired and worn 
out from excessive running, and would hardly feel 
like going up to where the reporter was, in the 
roundabout way in which we should have had to 
go, to deliver him the information called for, and 
then come all the way back. But, whether we were 
tired or full of activity, we did not like the matter- 
of-course manner in which some of tire reporters had 
demanded our services ; and we would often let the 
note remain where it had fallen on the carpet. 
Sometimes, out of pugnacity, we would surround 
the paper and walk around it, gazing at it ap- 
parently with great curiosity, but evincing no 
inclination to touch it. Finally, when the reporter 
would lean over the edge of the gallery, and, in 
a very obsequious manner, would bow his head 
and smile and go through a lot of gymnastics to 
indicate to everybody else in the galleries that 
the "squib" would not "go ofl'," and that he 
would be exceedingly obliged if one of our ex- 
cellencies would graciously convey the paper to its 
desired destination, one of us would pick it up; 
but not until then. 

In addition to the duties belonging to the 
position of page, 1 soon became competent to 
assist officers of the Senate in \-arious ways : at 
one time, relieving a door-keeper at his post ; 
at another, acting as a scribe, or private secretary, 
to a senator. But the honor or privilege that I 
particularly enjoyed was that of hauling up the 
flag. Every day, when the Senate met, a flag would 
be hoisted to the top of the stafif on the roof 




of the Senate, to notify people of that fact, and 
it would so remain until the Senate adjourned for 
the day, when it would be lowered. The same 
thing was done as regards the sessions of the 

The man who had charge of the Senate flag, 
not caring about the trouble of ascending the 
tedious stairs leading to the roof, finally permitted 
me to act for him. Accordingly, every day, a 
little before the time for the meeting of the Sen- 
ate, I would get the keys and go aloft, and, 
having arranged the flag and halyards, would 
wait there with the rope in my hand, ready 
to act. When the steam-whistles all over the city 
began to blow, announcing twelve o'clock, I would 
haul away until the flag reached the top of the 
pole, and, after fastening the rope near the bottom, 
I would descend to the Senate Chamber, with a pro- 
found conviction that I was, after all, a very impor- 
tant personage. Sometimes I would have so many 
other matters to attend to, that I would forget to 
haul the flag up for several hours after the meeting 
of the Senate ; and then sometimes I would go home 
after the Senate adjourned, forgetting to lower it, 
and it would remain there during the entire night. 
But no great harm resulted from these omissions, 
except that occasionally senators, not observing the 
flag, would stay at home when they should have 
been at the Senate, or, seeing it waving, would 
trudge to the Capitol only to find that the Senate 
had adjourned and that they could return whence 
they came. 

That flag, although to me an object of devotion, 
gave me more or less annoyance. Frequently, at 
such a height, the wind blows with considerable 
violence, and, in a stiff breeze, after hauling the 
flag to the top, I would attempt to fasten the hal- 
yards, and not be aware, until some one mentioned 
the fact long afterward, that I had left the flag at 
half-mast. This was caused by the rope slipping 
while I was fastening it at the bottom. Of course, 
the flag at half-mast being an indication that a 
senator or some other great functionary of the 
Government was dead, this state of affairs was 
somewhat embarrassing. But I capped the cli- 
max one day. The Senate had been in session 
for sex eral hours, when in came a senator who had 
just arrived at the Capitol, and inquired of a group 
of fellow law-makers what the Senate was in dis- 
tress about. He thereupon narrated something 

that caused them to chuckle as if it were a good 
joke ; and after they had enjoyed themselves for a 
while in this way, one of them sent for Cap- 
tain Bassett, and spoke to him. The Captain then 
came to me and told me to go up to the roof and 
see if the flag were all right. I could not imagine 
what could be the matter with it, but when I 
stepped on the roof I at once beheld the cause of 
the mirth. In raising the flag I had hauled away 
on the wrong rope, and there was the grand ensign 
of our Republic floating serenely in the breeze — 
upside down ! 

Of course, during the few days that it took me 
to become familiar with my duties, the Senate con- 
tinued its sessions. That is, it did not suspend 
them on my account; but nothing extraordinary 
happened until the twentieth of December, when 
both Houses of Congress adjourned to the sixth of 
January. As neither body can adjourn for a longer 
period than three days without the consent of 
the other, it became necessary for both Houses to 
agree to this, which was done by means of a Joint 
Resolution. Not much business is transacted by 
Congress during the month of December. The 
Congressmen hardly arrive in Washington and 
unpack their trunks before they begin to think 
about Christmas and New Year's, and wish to 
depart for their far-away homes to enjoy the ac- 
customed festivities about their own firesides. 
Upon re-assembling in January, both bodies ap- 
plied themselves to work in good earnest, and 
my labors increased in proportion. 

But while attending to the duties demanded of 
me, I was very observant of the manner in which 
the law-makers attended to their own. Having 
become connected with the Senate and intro- 
duced to it, as I have described, and feeling, 
with the natural conceit of an American boy, that 
I thereby became a part of the Legislative Depart- 
ment of the Government, I considered that I ought 
to inform myself thoroughly about the powers of 
Congress, and therefore resolved to watch closely 
the proceedings of each body in the great business 
of legislation. As some of you may wish to know 
the result of my observations, I will endeavor to 
state briefly the course pursued in the enactment 
of a law, giving you, however, fair warning to arm, 
yourselves with dictionaries. And in this connec- 
tion I will redeem my promise to explain the mode 
of electing Congressmen. 

(To be cojithtitcd.) 



By C. F. Holder. 

" Sail ahoy ! " came a shrill hail from the fore- 
top of the trim bark " Laughing Polly," as it 
bowled along in the latitude and near vicinity of 
the South Shetland Islands. 

"Where away?" answered a tall man with a 
tremendous voice, who was pacing up and down 
the quarter-deck, muffled in a great pea-jacket. 

" Dead ahead ! " came the voice of the lookout, 
who was the captain's son. He had taken the 
watch so as to be the first to sight land after the 
long run to the south. 

The captain swung himself into the rigging, 
gave a glance at the supposed vessel, and then 
dropped to the deck again with a loud laugh. 
" Your ship is an iceberg," he called out. "A 
pretty sailor-man you are," he added, "not to tell 
an iceberg from a whaler." 

" I can see her spars," shouted back the boy, 
who would not acknowledge his mistake ; and in- 
deed the nearer they approached, the more the 
object appeared like a vessel on the same course as 
themselves. It seemed a veritable ship, careening 
slightly in the brisk breeze. There were the white 
top-sails, with the shadows on them distinctly 
visible, and Ned — for that was our look out's name 
— almost thought he made out a pennant at her 
mizzen-peak. So remarkable was the sight that 
the sailors all gathered in a group forward, and 
watched the strange sail. But on getting within a 
mile of it, they plainly discerned that it was an ice- 
berg of enormous dimensions, and which even, at 
that distance, seemed to tower above them. Its 
resemblance to a ship was quickly lost, and it 
loomed up a great mountain of blue ice. moment- 
arily changing its shape and color. 

The captain had just given orders to shift the 
course of the vessel, when a cry of astonishment 
rose from the crew, who were still watching the 
distant berg. The captain and mate rushed for- 
ward, and saw the cause of the excitement. The 
ice-mountain had changed its position, and instead 
of being uprightwas heeling o\-er. Faster it moved, 
until finally, fairly overbalanced, it fell over in the 
water with a mighty crash, hurling into the air great 
waves three times as high as their mast-head, and 
sending out huge rollers on either side, while vast 
blocks of ice seemed to break off and float away. 

" It 's gone," shouted Ned excitedly. 

" No, it is n't," said his father. " Just keep your 
eyes on it." 

The words were hardly spoken by the captain 

before a still more remarkable phenomenon oc- 
curred ; the iceberg appeared gradually rising from 
the sea, slowly resuming its original shape, like an 
island of ice being forced above the surface by 
some invisible power. Slowly but perceptibly it 
rose, until finally the astonished sailors saw the 
gigantic berg, almost as large as before, rocking 
and oscillating, again upright upon the surface. 

In the meantime a series of waves from the 
scene of action had reached them, and Ned was 
nearly thrown from the foretopgallant-top, where 
he was still clinging. The ship pitched so violently 
that it seemed almost as if they had experienced a 
series of tidal waves. 

" It's only an upset," said the captain, as Ned 
rejoined him on deck. " You see, one of these great 
bergs floats about until it gets top-heavy, which is 
occasioned by the lower portion, a thousand or 
fifteen hundred feet below, striking, perhaps, a 
warm current that melts it away, until finally the 
exposed portion overbalances the base, and over it 
goes with a thundering crash, as we have seen." 

" I had no idea a berg as large as that could 
tip over," said the young sailor. 

" I have seen larger ones than that roll," 
replied the captain. "There seems to be no 
limit to their size. An iceberg was observed some 
years ago, not four hundred miles from here, that 
was two and a half miles long, over two miles 
broad, and a hundred and fifty feet high, and it 
must have weighed fifteen hundred million tons. 
Yet that was by no means a large one. I have 
seen them off Cape Horn nearly eight hundred 
feet high ; and a mass of icebergs was once seen 
sixty miles long by forty broad, and three hundred 
feet high. As only one-tenth of the whole mass rises 
above the water, the higher out of water, the larger 
they are, and one which exposes two hundred feet 
would probably have eighteen hundred feet under 

The conversation was here interrupted by a hail 
always welcome on a whaler. Whether it was 
" There she blows ! " or "Whale o' ! " they could 
not make out ; but seeing the lookout pointing 
toward the floating island, they turned that way. 

The vessel had suddenly passed a projection 
of the berg that showed them its broad side and 
snowy peak looming three hundred feet into the 
air, and near the top, frozen in the icy block, 
was the black body of an immense whale. 

"Never mind the boats," said the captain, re- 





covering from his astonishment, and recalling an " A frozen whale in command of a ship of ice," 

order which he had given upon hearing the hail, said Ned. ''And to think that we saw it rise three 

" Well, that beats all my experience in thirty hundred feet from the water ! " 

years' whaling," he continued. "A fin-back in "It's the greatest leap on record," exclaimed 

an iceberg !" his father, " and as such jumps don't occur every 


day, we may as well have a nearer view " ; and, in- 
structing the helmsman, the whaler was hauled 
a point or so on the wind. It was soon found, 
however, that a nearer view of the whale would 
involve being becalmed in the Ice of the berg, so 
the boat was lowered, and the captain and Ned 
were soon being pulled toward the huge prisoner 
of the icc-island. 

As they approached, the sight became still more 
remarkable and impressive. The sight was very 
tantalizing to the whalers, as there above their reach 
was the game they were in search of, but it was out 
of their power to dislodge it from its bed of ice, 
and they reluctantly rowed back under the shadow 
of the berg. Looking up at the imprisoned whale, 
they saw that it was a rorqual nearly one hundred 
feet in length — the largest of living animals. 

As the wind had died down, they could not leave, 
and so they witnessed the effect of sunset on the 
ice-island. The tall peak was flooded with golden 
lights ; dark shadows crept up its sides, gradually 
changing the golden radiance to gleaming silver, 
then to gray, which was in turn lost in the approach- 
ing gloom. But soon the moon appeared, bathing 
the berg with its silvery light and bringing out with 
startling distinctness the frozen giant 

Late into the night the sailors watched the island 
of ice, fearing that perhaps the surface current 
might bring them dangerously near it, but finally 
the wind sprang up, the sails filled, and the frozen 
whale was soon lost in the distance. 

Upon the return of the whaler, two years later, 
the story was told, and it was found that several 
sea-captains had observed similar sights. One had 

seen a polar bear so imprisoned, while others told 
of enormous rocks and bowlders that the bergs 
lifted from the sea. The presence of the whale in 
the berg was explained in a remarkable way. The 
huge animal was not entombed at sea, but it had 
been washed upon the thick ice-sheet in the lee of 
some antarctic island (these sheets sometimes ex- 
tend many miles from shore) ; the snow from the 
shore had blown over it year after year, melting 
and freezing, until finally it was surrounded by 
hard, clear ice ; the weight, ever increasing, forced 
the sheet under water, and as the snow was con- 
tinually piling up on the top and changing to ice, 
the great mass with the imprisoned whale finally 
projected far out under the sea. The snow contin- 
ued still melting and freezing, but piling upward. 
And then its weight, or perhaps a heavy gale, de- 
tached the mass from the field, and it floated away, 
an island of ice, bearing the captured whale be- 
neath the sea. 

As we have seen, the warmer currents wear 
away the submerged portion until the berg be- 
came top-heavy and overturned, bringing the long- 
imprisoned monster high up in air. 

Sometimes, instead of being frozen in and carried 
to sea, whales are forced far inland. Captain Pendle- 
ton, who accompanied one of the LInited States ex- 
peditions to the Ant.irctic Sea, saw a whale two hun- 
dred and eighty feet from the surface of the water, 
in an ice-cliff eight hundred feet high. Whales and 
their skeletons have not only been found above the 
level of the sea at South Shetland, but a mile and 
a half inland away from the shore — wonderful 
examples of the power of frozen snow and water. 


By Mrs. W. H. Daniels. 

The Philosopher lay on the soft fur rug, with 
his toe in his mouth, thinking. 

Though not remarkably large in any other re- 
spect, he was a very great philosopher. Indeed, 
his entire life had been spent in profound cogita- 
tion upon most important subjects. He had reflected 
and experimented upon the phenomena of light 
and sound, with gravity so undisturbed and inter- 
est so absorbed as to draw upon hiin the admiring 
observation of all who knew him. 

The Philosopher was bald-headed ! Philosophers 
are apt to be. Arduous and protracted mental 
effort is said to result frequently in the removal 
of nature's beautiful covering from " The wondrous 

Vol. XII.— 10 

cage of thought." But in the case of this particu- 
lar philosopher, the danger of overtasking the 
brain had become earlier apparent : his hair had 
never grown at all ! The round head, which held 
such remarkable ideas, had always been bald ! 

The Philosopher was also toothless ! Was he, 
then, so very aged ? 

Being constantly absorbed in the consideration 
of matters of so much greater importance, he 
had given little heed to the passage of time ; and, 
perhaps for that reason, he could not have told you 
his own age ; but he was certainly of the opinion 
that he had lived very long indeed. A settled 
dignity and calm was expressed upon his counte- 


nance, as of one too long familiar with events to be 
disturbed by their changes. Indeed, he could not 
remember when he had no/ been alive ; which 
would seem to imply that he had always lived. 

He did not object to being without teeth. He 
thought that, in the nature of things, bones ought 
to be covered with warm, rosy flesh. His own 
were ; and he did not care to make an exception 
in favor of teeth. They might as well stay where 
they were ; he had a conviction that this would 
save him a great deal of trouble. 

Besides, it left more room to put his toe in his 

The Philosopher believed that he had discovered 
the true design and purpose of the human toe. 
He obsei-ved that the community at large seemed 
to suppose that it was intended to be tied in clumsy 
leathern bags and to be walked upon. This the 
Philosopher felt to be an error. He did not propose 
to walk. Why should he give himself so much need- 
less trouble ? People knew where he wished to go, 
and what he liked to have ; and it was not only 
their obvious duty, but their highest pleasure, to 
carry out his desires. The Grand Turk himself 
was not more serenely sure of being carefully and 
devotedly served. Then, if that soft, dimpled 
foot was not meant for walking, for what was it 

Upon this problem the Philosopher had ex- 
pended much thought, while holding that chubby 
member in both hands and scrutinizing it closely. 
Usually he looked at it after the manner of ordi- 
nary mortals ; but sometimes, when his interest 
was most absorbing and the question what to do 
with it especially perplexing, he would look on the 
left side of his foot with his right eye, and on the 
right side of it with his left eye, — the method by 
which all great metaphysicians endeavor to exam- 
ine both sides of a subject. 

It was in one of these rapt moments that an in- 
spiration came to him: the object of the toe was — 
lo complete the circuit .' Quicker than thought he 
popped it into his mouth. The experiment abun- 
dantly justified his conclusions : he had undoubt- 
edly discovered the chief end of man. From that 
hour, whenever he wished to indulge in deep and 
continuous thinking, he was careful first to arrange 
this return circuit for the current of thought. 

The Philosopher had his own revered divinity, 
and his religious beliefs were at once strong and 
steadfast. The divinity of life and love which he 
worshiped was embodied in a female form. 

She often appeared to his delighted vision, com- 
ing from he knew not where, in the immensities 
of space ; but never failing to bend over him, with 

heaven shining in her eyes, and smiling on her 
lips. His faith in her was boundless ; he trusted 
her love more fully than his own wisdom or 
strength ; and he knew that in her tender care were 
perfect safety and happiness. 

The Philosopher never gave utterance to the 
thoughts which thrilled his being. He knew the 
power of silence, — the mighty influence of a nature 
strong enough to repress at will all expression of 
itself. In vain had proud friends and admiring 
followers besought him for a single word. In vain 
they said to each other, " What rfo you suppose 
he is thinking about?" He only turned his large 
blue eyes upon them in a silence the mystery of 
which shut them out from all communication with 
the wonders of his inner life. They might observe 
him, and, if they were wise enough, read the proc- 
esses of his mind from results ; but he never 
deigned further to enlighten them. 

Not that he did not desire to speak ; of course 
he did. Sometimes a thought arose so grand and 
strong as almost to lift his soul away from its clay ; 
or a loving feeling, so sweet and tender as to bring 
heaven's angels down to his side. At such times 
his heart overflowed with longing to tell his happi- 
ness ; but he was aware that "The wine of thought 
should have ample time to settle and clear, before 
being drawn off into flasks of speech " ; in accord- 
ance with which decision, he would thrust his rosy 
fist into his mouth, as a stopper to keep the words 

It was on Christmas-day that he lay on the rug, 
thinking. And he was thinking of Christmas, — of 
all the love and blessedness it holds ; all the for- 
getfulness of self and thought for others which it 

At this moment his beloved divinity bent over 
him ; and as he looked up into her beautiful face 
she said, in the language which such divinities 
oftenest use, "What was him finkin' about, old 
Pessus? Was it Kissmus? So it was; what does him 
fink about it? " and with that she pulled the little 
rosy connecting link of thought from his mouth. 

That was too much for even his powers of re- 
pression. He had to speak then. All his love 
and his deep comprehension of the truest wisdom 
found voice in a moment. 

The Philosopher smiled as he gave utterance, 
for the first time, to his opinions concerning Christ- 
mas. And the Philosopher said : 

"Ah-h, Goo-00-00-0 ,' ^' 

Philosophers need not necessarily speak the 
English language. Indeed, it has long been con- 
sidered essential that the profoundest thought 
should not be too easily understood. 




By Edna Dean Proctor. 

The Boy-prince whose portrait is here given, 
and who may one day rule the Russian Empire, is 
the Grand-duke Nicholas, eldest son of the Emperor 
Alexander III. and Princess Maria Dagmar (Day- 
dawn), of Denmark, now the Empress Maria 
Feodorovna. His distinctive title, as eldest son 
and heir, is The Czai-evitch, which means the son 
of the Czar. All Russian boys and girls are des- 
ignated as sons and daughters of their father. 
The Russian termination cvitch or ovitcli means 
son of; cvna or ovna, daughter of; Alexandrovitch 
is son of Alexander; Ale.xandrovna, daughter of 

Alexander. The younger sons of the Czar would 
be George or Michael Alexandrovitch, but only the 
eldest is spoken of as Czarevitch. The name 
«hich the Empress took when she was admitted to 
the Russian Church signifies the daughter of 
Fcodor (Theodore), this being one of the names 
of her father. King Christian of Denmark. 

Grand-duke Nicholas was born May 18. 186S, at 
Czarskoe .Selo (Czar's village), an imperial summer 
palace, fifteen miles south of St. Petersburg. 
This spacious palace stands upon the Neva 
bank, over two hundred feet above the water, 




and is surrounded by extensive grounds so per- 
fectly kept that you can hardly find even a dead 
leaf upon the lawns. The interior is adorned 
with precious marbles and mosaics, costly bronzes, 
tapestries from the Gobelin looms, and all that 
the Empress Catharine II., who completed it, could 
bring together to add to its beauty and grandeur. 
It has always been a favorite residence of the 
imperial family, and its park an attractive resort 
for the people. The first railway in Russia was 
built from St. Petersburg to Czarskoe Selo. 

Crown princes have so much to learn that they 
must begin early and lose no time. Until his 
ninth year the education of the young Grand- 
duke was superintended by Madame de Flotow, 
one of the ladies of honor who had followed the 
Princess Dagmar from Denmark to Russia. In 
1877 the charge was given to Lieutcnant-General 
Danilovitch, who has arranged the Prince's hours 
of instruction in accordance with those of the 
military gymnasiums. His regular lessons are 
from eight in the morning till three in the after- 
noon, but with such intermissions that they never 
exceed five hours a day. His afternoons are spent 
in walks with the Emperor, or in outdoor sports, — 
riding, swimming, fishing, fencing, gymnastics, — 
of all of which he is very fond ; and his evenings 
are devoted to preparing for next day's lessons, 
reading, and keeping a diary. He is an excellent 
scholar and linguist ; enters into his studies with 
much spirit, and speaks fluently Russian, Danish, 
French, German, and English. The crown princes 
of England and Germany may study if they like 
at the universities, but the heir of Russia must be 
educated by private tutors. 

Last May, upon his sixteenth birthday, the day 
on which the Prince became of age, he renewed 
his oath of adherence to the orthodox church, the 
ceremonies taking place in the chapel of the Winter 
Palace at St. Petersburg. As heir to the Russian 
throne, he accompanied the Emperor and Empress 
to their recent meeting with the sovereigns of Ger- 
many and Austria. 

In person the Prince is slight and delicately 
formed, with fair complexion and auburn hair; 
and he usually wears a sailor costume, which suits 
his slender figure. He is a member of the Preo- 
brajensky (Transfiguration) Guard, the famous 
regiment founded by Peter the Great; and by 

birth he is Attaman (chief) of all the Cossacks of 
the empire. It is his privilege to wear the uniform 
of any regiment he pleases. This in which he is 
pictured is that of the Hussars. 

Neither for crown princes in Europe, nor for 
boys and girls in America, can we predict what 
the rolling years will bring ; but we will all give 
our best wishes to 


Son of the dauntless sea-kings, 

Heir of the mighty Czars, 
What stately crowns his brow may wear, 

His breast what jeweled stars ! 
All night the red auroras flamed 

Down from the ice-fields lorn. 
And the winds blew swift from the southern 

To greet his natal morn ; 
The guns of the Fortress thundered; 

The church-bells thrilled the air; 
Te Dcums glorious stole to heaven 

By many an altar fair ; 
A thousand thousand prayers went up 

That the Lord might guard and guide 
The boy who lay in his mother's arms 

By Neva's brimming tide. 

God help the lad whose words may bless 

Or blight where'er they fall. 
From woods Carpathians' winds have stirred, 

To China's winding wall ; 
And from Solovetsk, whose crosses gleam 

Athwart the Frozen seas, 
To soft Crimean vales that dream 

In balm and summer ease ! 
God grant that the Russian peasant 

The Khivan by the border. 
The roving Kalmuck of the steppe, 

The valiant Cossack warder. 
The Pole by broad-armed Vistula, 

The Tartar by the sea. 
And all the countless clans and tribes 

Swayed by the Czar's decree. 
May find that might and right are one 

Within the vast domain, 
And dwell in peace and loyalty 

When he shall come to reign ! 

j884.] the PUl'-COKN DANCE. 149 



She Sip. HlGHOLiAS f^IiMANA6 







Sun on 

Holidays and Incidents. 



T ru 

H. M. 





near Saturn 






John Flaxman, died 1826. 





Thos. Carlyle, b. 1795. 






Alex. Dumas died 1870. 





(7th) C near Regulus. 






2d Sunday in Advent. 





<7 near Jupiter. 






John Mihon, bom 1608. 









<i near Spica. 










(14th) C near Venus. 





3d Sunday in Advent. 





Louis Agassiz, d. 1873. 





Jane Austen, died 1775. 





Beethoven, bom 1770. 





Samuel Rogers, died 1855. 





Turner (painter), d. 1851. 






Shortest day in the year. 





4th Sunday in Advent. 





Geo. Eliot, died 1881. 





Washington, resig'd 1783. 





Vasco de Gama, d. 1525. 





Christmas- day. 





Thos. Gray, bom 1716. 






Chas. Lamb, died 1834. 


■ S 



ist Sunday after Christmas 






<; close to Aldebaran. 





(T near Saturn. 






Beaconsfield, bom 1805. 

The sun, as he's nearing the end of his course, 
Now drives with the goat in the traces ; 

And Santa Claus' reindeer are close to him now, 
As on toward Christmas he races. 

Sport for the Month. 

Clear the track! Quick, turn back! 
Here come the sleds with the boys ! 
Rosy cheeks ! Funny freaks ! 
And never-ceasing noise. 

Evening Skie.s for Young Astronomers. 

(See Introduction, page 255, St. Nicholas for Januarj'. )* 
December 15th, 8.30 p. m. 

Saturn is still our only evening star; he is now at his 
brightest and is still in the constellation Taurjis. We have 
now many of the constellations and stars in view that we be- 
gan the year with. Not only Taurus but OHon is fully 
above the horizon. In the east is Procyon of Canis Minor, 
The Little Dog, an hour high. This name Procyon means 
Before the Dog. because it always rises a little before Sirius, 
the Dogstar, which we can see just above the horizon in the 
south-east. The Twins Castor and Pollu.x are in the east 
also, but without Jl piter, their brilliant guest of last spring. 
Above them is Capella in A7iriga. The Charioteer. Lyra is 
low down in the far north-west, and when it sets will remain 
below the horizon but a few hours. The Square of Pegasus 
and A ndromeda have passed to the west of our south mark. 
The most conspicuous star over our mark is Hamal, some- 
times called Arielis. It is in the constellation (i{ Aiics^ The 
Ravi, one of the constellations of the Zodiac. The sun is 
some distance below this star on the 20th of April, and passes 
between The Pleiades and Aldebaran on the 21st of May, as 
mentioned in " The Skies " for January. 


"It's very cold this morning," said a little Christmas-tree out in the forest, one windy December day; 
** tliough I 'm fir from head to foot, I am all in a shiver." 

"You'll be warm enough before long," said the Old Oak, "I've seen the woodman looking at you 
several times lately." » 

" I know I 've branched out a good deal for myself the past year" said the little Tree proudly, " and I 
should not wonder if Santa Claus were very well satisfied with me, when I come to be all dressed up for a 
Christmas party." 

" Ho-ho-ho ! " laughed the Old Oak, " you and your family are too green ; you should have put on brown, 
dingy jackets like the rest of us, and then you might live to a green old age, as I shall." 
Just then the Woodman appeared. 

" Well ! " cried the little Cliristmas-tree, as the woodman bore it away, " it 's a great honor to be chosen, 
and Christinas comes but once a year." 

"The names of planets are printed in capitals, — those of constellations in itahcs. 



PoR Boys and Gii^ls. 


*■ S\o\v 1 Blow 1 Chill ! Thrill! That 's the way I come. Mother, but I 'm a jolly, cheery fellow for all 
that," cries December ; "and I 'm gonig to wrap you right up in a mantle of royal ermine, and make a real 
Queen of you, with a crown of my own diamonds, and give you a long rest from your labors. We are 
going to have gay times there are so many Christmas-trees which I have to attend to, that I expect to be 
busy with Santa Claus every spare moment. I must drape the forest trees with snow; and there 's a deal 
of freezing to do : I can't have the brooks and streams running around so, I must put a stop to that right 
away. And then, such festoons of icicles as I have to hang here and there." 

" Well, my dear," said Nature, "you are a jolly and cheery fellow, sure enough, and I shall be very glad 
to have my robe of ermine, for it is getting cold." 


Oh, Santa Claus is a merrj' Prince, 
He rules o'er the Cliristnias-tree ! 

His castle is built in fairy-land 
On the topmost peak of Glee. 

The name of the castle is Joyousness, 
And down through its gardens gay 

Run Happy River and Merry Brook 
To Laughing Sea away. 

The frisky leaves blow here and there 
In the sweet little dancing breeze. 

And fairy birds frolic the livelong day 
Through the beautiful wind-swept trees. 

And here in the gardens are growing the toys 
That ripen for Christmas-day, 

And our merry Prince has to tell tlie time 
When they 're ready to garner away. 

And how, do you ask, does he bring them to earth ? 

— In a beautiful fairy boat, 
That sails along through a white-cloud sea. 

Like a graceful swan afloat. 

And when he draws near to the frozen earth, 

He leaps to his loaded sleigh. 
He dons his furs and grasps the reins. — 

Then, " Hurrah ! away, away ! " 

Now, if you can peep beyond the clouds 

On some wonderful Christmas-eve, 
I 'm sure you will see him sailing down, 

His beautiful gifts to leave. 




MadiE is a very happy little girl ; and this is why her smile is so bright. She is 
called the middle child of the family, because she has a brother Joe, who is older, 
and a brother Benny, who is younger than she is. The boys are playing horse now, for I 
can hear Joe saying: " G-e-t up!" But Madie does not like to play horse. She 
would rather run about in the snow with Trip, her dear little black and 
white dog. 

Now I will tell you about Madie's Christmas, just one year ago. 
She and Joe and Benny were very happy on that day, for they had a 
Christmas-tree full of bright little candles, all lighted, and pretty presents 
which their Papa soon handed them from its branches. Madie put hers 
in a nice pile, all but the best doll. She carried that in her 
arms nearly all day, and said, " I love her, oh, ever so much 
already ! " — Joe liked his Punch-and-Judy show very much, 
and said it was by far the best thing on the beautiful tree ; 
and baby Benny was made very happy by a lovely silver 
rattle. This was a year ago, you know, 
when Benny was only fifteen months old. 
Well, once during the day, Madie was not 

glad, and her smiles went quite away. I '11 tell you how it was : She 
dressed herself in her Mamma's elegant silk skirt, for fun, and with her 
doll in her arms knocked at her Papa's door. 

I lady " she said ; " and, oh, 
be to see me ! " 
have some fun, too. So 
could not open the door, 
ed, and Papa talked to her 
he stepped back so that she 
not know this ; and she 
hard, that — what do you 
open, and Madie fell down 
flat, and bumped poor dolly's head upon 
the floor ! Ah, how badly she felt ! She 
forgot to be good, and cried, and stamp- 
ed her little feet. She even threw off 
the long skirt that had made her look so 
fine, and wrapped dolly up in it, and told 
her, crossly, to "lie there." Papa, to 
make Madie laugh, got down on his knees 
and begged his little girl to forgive him. But she frowned and turned her back. 

" I '11 play I am a big 
how surprised Papa will 

But Papa wanted to 
he made believe that he 
Madie knocked and knock- 
through the door; at last 
might come in. Madie did 
knocked and pushed so 
think ? — The door flew 


he went softly away, and when Madie turned to forgive him, she saw that she was all 



alone. " O ! Papa ! Papa ! " she 
cried, as she ran up stairs. " Come 
back — I '11 forgive you ! " 

lie ran into a room and shut 
the door ; and when she knocked 
and begged him to let her in, he 
made believe cry. " Go away ! " 

he said just as Madie had said it 
when she was naughty. " But 
I 'm good, now ! " begged Madie, 
want j'on ! " sobbed Papa in fun. 
again with her little girl." So ^. 
put on the skirt as fast as she 
doll on her arm she met Papa in 

" Good-day, sir ! " said she very sweetly 

and we wish you a merry Christmas, sir." 
" The same to you," said Papa with a bow, 
as he caught his little girl in his arms and 
kissed her, — "and now take off your fin- 
ery, and put on your white fur coat, for 
you are to go in the carriage with Mamma, 
to bring your cousins. We all shall have 
a happy Christmas dinner together ! " 

" Oh, oh, how lovely ! " cried Madie, 
laughingwith joy; and Benny clapped his little hands, while Joe held 
him up to the window to see the horses come prancing to the house. 
Madie from the steps — "Mamma says you and Benny may 


" I want the fine lady 
Madie ran down and 
could, and then with her 
the hall. 

" I 've brought my little girl to see you, 

"Joe!" called 
come, too! " 

"Me tan't, 
Doody ! " 

stoutly. " Me doin' to see Doe work his Punce-and- 




Christmas comes but once a year ; but it 
strikes me that it comes uncommonly early some- 
limes, that is, for Jack-in-the-Pulpits, who, so to 
speak, are cultivated by St. NICHOLAS. Here 
my birds have hardly finished picking up the 
crumbs from Thanksgiving feasts, when, lo ! a 
sound of joy is heard, the East is aglow with a new 
light, and little "Merry Christmases " begin to 
tingle and sparkle deep in everybody's heart, ready 
to spread and grow until, on the blessed day, they 
leap forth in happy speech and great love for all 
the world in general, and every one in particular ! 

I can see that you already are conscious of this 
same Christmas something — 

Ha ! Ho ! I feel the glow, 
But what it is I hardly know ; 
It must be Christmas coming, O ! 

Bless me I wliat a grand thing it is to be able 
to make otlier folk happy, — rich folk, poor folk 
(most especially poor folk), young folk, old folk, 
sick folk, well folk, — to start a summer in their 
souls right in the middle of winter — a summer of 
roses, lollipops and trumpets and drums ! God 
bless you, my beloved, and keep you in peace and 
goodness and joy till Jack says " Merry Christ- 
mas " to you again ! 

Now for business. What matter shall we dis- 
pose of first ? It shall be the letters. Here is one 
from Angie : 


Newbi'Rg, June 7, 1884. 
Mv DEAR Jack : This afternoon as I was sitting on the back 
piazza watching a thunder-storm come up the river, I seemed to see 
clouds, or, rather, quite a few miniature feathers, about as large as 
a pencil-dot floating through the air, when I looked across the river 
or at the sky. It never happened to me before, or, at least, I think 
it never did, although it may have done so. Perhaps, this is quite 
common, but, if it is not too much trouljle, will you print thts note, 
and let the dear Little School-ma'am's scholars give me an answer'? 

^'niir constant reader, Angie M. Mvers. 

The Little School-ma'am says that Angle's ex- 
perience is not an uncommon one. She thinks 
that she may have been watching the lightning, or 
else the sun as it was being alternately hidden 
and revealed by the clouds. 

But why should watching either the lightning or 
the sun make Angle's eyes act in this remarkable 
manner? Have any of my boys and girls any ex- 
planation to offer? 


Here is a letter from the Deacon : 

Dear Jack ; Let me show your youngsters some words that 
a good and gifted man once wrote in the fly-leaf of a new book. 
The book had been bought by a young Boston mother for her only 
bi'y, and she was in the cars <m her way home from New York, 
when she was joined by Wendell Phillips, who chanced to be on the 
same train. They were old friends, and the mother soon showed 
Mr, Phillips the book, which was entitled, Speciach's for Ycning 
Eyes. He glanced over it, and then, taking a pencil from his 
pocket, rapidly wrote these few lines on the fly-leaf: 

" Frank 
Better loves to read 
Than to play : 
Hear him with mother plead, 
* Bring me a book from far away.* 
The mind's food, 

Are good : 
But never clutch 
Too much. 
Good soul, sound stomach, strong br.ain, — 
These are the chain 
Which hold the world in your hand 
And govern the land. 
These serve God the best, 
Till he gives you rest. 
If you 'd fill life with true joy, 
My boy. 

While you use these ' Stectacles 
For Young Eves,' 
Remember to get stiong 
As well as wise. 

"WciM-n Phillips." 

This was some years ago. Frank, who is now a man and well 
worthy of his noble old friend, lately showed me the book. I begged 
him to let me copy the lines for your yotmg folk. 

Yours truly, Silas Green. 


Here is a picture of a curious and sedate old 
fellow, who not only seems to have on an over- 
coat, but one that apparently belonged to his 
great-great-grandfather. It is long in the sleeves, 
high in the neck, and seems to be a little narrow 
in the back. In fact, this overcoat is such a close 
fit that it never comes off, as it is the peculiar 
marking of the bird, and is made of curious feath- 
ers that appear almost like scales. 

If our comical-looking friend could talk, he would 
tell you that this picture was taken while he was on 
a visit to Her Majesty the Oueen of England, and 
was boarding at the London Zoological Gardens, 
and that he belongs to the exalted order of 
Spe/iisci. Between you and me this high-sound- 
ing word only means that he is a penguin, who 
lives in some of the Queen's dominions in the 
Antarctic regions, and, like all the feathered in- 
habitants of out-of-the-way countries, he seems 
very strange and curious and not at all bird-like. 
Note how far back his feet are ; how erect he 
stands ; how long his arms are, and how much 


J A C K - I N - T 1 1 E - 1' U L P I T . 

like fins they look. You would almost think him 
a fish, and should you sec him in the water you 
would be sure of it, for there he dives along just 
like one, and experts have taken his brothers and 
cousins for small porpoises as they jumped from 
wave to wave, using their long wings just like fins. 
On shore they stand upright, and march along in 
great bodies, so that from a distance they have 
been taken for soldiers. 

Our friend in London, as I am told by C. F. 
Holderj the naturalist, is the representative of a 

1'.[I-;d with an OVICKLOAT," — (F1^0^t a rHOXOCRAPH CV MESSRS. r.RIGGS AN"D SON, LONDON.) 

large tribe, all looking in general alike, but hav- 
ing certain differences, so that they form various 

"Some," Mr. Holder's letter says, "are king penguins; others 
are jackass penguins, while others, again, are called rockhoppers. 
They are all confined to the Antarctic regions, and live in rookeries 
on the desert islands in such vast numbers that no one could count 
them. They live in regular cities of grass, divided off into streets, 
alleys, and lanes, along which the penguin families pass just as 
people do in their own homes. The king penguins divide their 
settlement into two portions : a larger and a smaller, and the latter 

is the nursery where the mothers and young live, curious little fel- 
lows covered with wool. If any of your friends, dear Jack, should 
go on a hunt after penguin eggs they would be awfully puzzled, as 
perhaps after seeing an egg from a distance, when they got to the 
spot they would find no egg there, while the old bird would protest 
with its ' urr — urr — urr ' that it knew nothing about it. Old sailors 
used to say that the birds carried their great eggs under their arms, 
but that was a mistake. The missing egg will be found in a pouch 
right between the bird's broad-webbed feet. So you see some of the 
penguins not only have overcoats, but pockets in which the egg is 
carried about on land and kept warm, and is the only nest the pen- 
guin has. Some of the penguins, as the jackass of the Cape of Good 
Hope, build a nest near the shore; and what a nest it is! Perhaps 
there will be a collection of pebbles, then a covering of the white 
and blue shells of a goose barnacle; then some sea-weed, and then, 
in the case I have in view, half 

a dozen rusty nails, a piece of 

wood from a wreck, the nozzle of 
an old glass bottle, and the cover 
of a tin can — curious material, 
your children will say, for a nur- 
sery ! Such a nest was found 
in the Falkland Islands, and the 
objects were taken from a hut 
deserted by whalers. Several of 
the birds had taken possession 
of the hut and built their nests 
on the floor, and made violent 
objecrion when the rightful own- 
ers returned. " 

All these facts, you 
must understand, are 
taken down from my 
friend Holder's personal 
information, and my 
birds assure me that he 
knows a great deal 
about birds and beasts, 
and all manner of living 
thin gs. 


Minneapolis, Minn., 
Oct. 2d, 1884. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pi'lpit : 
I was lying at my master's feet 
the other evening when his sister 
was reading to him out of St. 
Nicholas (which they think 
very much of, by the way) about 
the advanced ages of dogs and 
other animals, so I thought that 
I would get her to write to you 
and tell you about a dog that is 
big if he is n't old, 

I was given to my little master 
on his twelfth birthday, and I 
think everything of him, and he 
thinks just as much of me, you 
may be sure. 

I am a full-blooded Newfound- 
land dog of the St. John's breed ; 
I am one year old, my weight 
is 145 pounds, my height. 33 
inches, my length, from tip of 
nose to tip of tail, is 70 inches, 
and what is more, dear Jack, I 
am still growing. 

Every day I go with my mas- 
ter to a restaurant to get my meat, and I carry the basket in my 
mouth there and back. 

I am the biggest dog in this cit>'. and I heard a lady say one day 
that when I growl it shakes the house. I expect that you will 
think me a ver>' self-conceited dog ; but everybody tells me that I am 
noble and handsome, so I begin to think that it is so. 

Yours truly, 

Lionel Lo\'ering. 

P. S. Lionel is my real name, but ever>- one in the family calls 
ne Lion for ?.hort. 

L. L 




Chicago, | u . 

Dear St. Nicholas: The principal of our Sunday-school is goin^' 
to get up a " Children's Christmas Chib," Uke the one you told about, 
so that we may give presents to all the poor little children. I think it 
will be lovely to see them made so happy. We have to pay ten cents 
to enter, and ten cents every month. This money must be earned, 
not exactly by work, but by some self-denial or something like that. 
1 have a lovely Sunday-school teacher, who will help our class to 
dress dolls and make pretty things. We used to have a dog, a cat 
and little kittens, three cows, a great number of chickens and ducks, 
and two horses. But we moved and left them all with my grand- 
father. I have taken St. Nicholas ever so long, and like it very 
much. The account of the Portland "Christmas Club" in St. 
Nicholas for last December gave us the idea of getting up one. 

Your friend, Eligenie L. 

" An admiring friend, M. D.," will please accept our thanks for 
the compliment of the following lines which he kindly sends to the 
Lelter-Iio.K : 

{New version.) 

It was time he should come, and 1 thought he might be 

In the package the postman had handed to me; 

I tore off the wrapper incredibly quick. 

And saw "in a moment that it was St. Nick," — 

Not he whose one visit occurs in December, 

Whom all little ones by his gifts can remember. 

But dear old St. Nick, with its goodness and cheer 

That brighten our household each month of the year ! 

Wellsboro, Pa., September, 1884. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am ten years old, :md we have taken 
you eleven years, so I have had the St. Nicholas all my life. You 
don't know how glad we are when a new number of you comes. 
There is a scramble and a rush, for we all try to get a look at it first. 
I say "all," for there are a good many of us — five girls and two 
boys besides me. 

I read " Marvin and his Boy Hunters," and wished it was longer; 
and the " Spinning-wheel Stories" are splendid ! We have an old 
dog named Towzer. He is a very good dog. but rather hard on 
cats. Whene\er he sees one, he 'II chase it till it runs up a tree. 
But still he never hurts them. One day he saw a little kitten drown- 
ing in a stream, and he just put his nose in and lifted it out, and let 
it run away without chasing it. Was n't he good? There 's ever 
so much more to say ; but as I don't want to fill up any more room 
in your precious magazine, I 'II stop. 

Your loving reader, Frances P . 

Kincardine, Ont.. February', 1S84. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a Canadian girl, living on the shores 
of Lake Huron. I want to tell you about the range of ice hills which 
arc formed along the lake shore every winter, and which have the 
appearance of a range of miniature mountain-peaks, rising sometimes 
to a height of twenty or thirty feet. Some of these are hollow, with an 
opening leading to the water, and each wave as it surges into the 
opening sends forth a jet of spray and pieces of ice from the summit 
like a real volcano. It is a splendid sight to see a range of ice 
mountains stretching for miles along the shore, most of them snowy 
white and others of a mottled appearance, owing to the sand thrown 
up by the waves. The ice during the winter season stretches out as 
far as the horizon, but it is often taken nearly all away by the wind. 
From your true friend, 

Agnes May R . 

Kansas Citv, Mo., October, 1884. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have intended for some time to write to 
you, but have put it off, as little folks are very apt to do, and. 
Mamma says, big folks, too ! But now I have something that I 
7r:?isi tell you. I have had a real Jumbo day. just as big in pleas- 
ure as Jumbo is as an elephant, and with Jumbo, too. Bamum's 
circus has been here, with Jumbo and Queen and the Baby, and I 
enjoyed seeing Queen and the Baby so much after reading the 
October Sr. Nicholas. Queen looks so gentle and quiet, it does 
not seem as if she ever could be in such a rage. Of course, in a 
large city like this, it is difficult to find vacant ground for the large 
tents, and it happened that the place finally chosen was very near 
where I live, only half a block from the back of our yard. There 
were thirty elephants with the circus, but the ones which interested 
me most were the three I first mentioned, and which have become 
so well known to all of us children who read the St. Nicholas, as 

I do. While the parade was going through the streets in the morn- 
ing, the keepers brought those three elephants to the hydrant 
near us and gave them their bath. You never saw anything 
so funny as Jumbo was : he would fill his trunk with water and 
throw it first over the left side of his body, then the ri^ht side, then 
over his back, and ne.vt under him on his stomach. Sometimes he 
would lift one ear and throw the water in there. Several times the 
keeper took hold of his trunk and led him away to give Queen and 
the Baby a chance to get near the tub, but before he could fairly 
turn around. Jumbo's trunk was over his head and into the tub 
again. Sometimes he threw the water over the Baby, who seemed 
to enjoy it very much. Again, late in the afternoon, they brought 
these three out to the hydrant, and my papa took me out close to 
them. I did enjoy it all so much, and I wished all the little children 
could have had such a day with Jumbo as I had. I watch for St, 
Nicholas every month, and think I like best the articles that tell 
about circuses and cats. Your constant reader, Sar.\h C. 

Afton House, Afton, Nelson Co., Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl nearly ten years old, and 
am spending some time with my grandma and aunt in the mountains 
of Virginia. We are all natives of New Orleans, La. This is the 
first letter I ever wrote to you, and 1 hope you will not throw it in 
the scrap-basket. My mamma, who is in Montgomerjs Ala., wrote 
me that my little sister, who is only eighteen months old, said one 
night, when she was sleepy, "Mamma, my eyes are gone." I 
thought the remark so original I would write it to you. 

I am so delighted with St. Nicholas, and, although not a sub- 
scriber, I have been taking all the numbers for the past three or four 
years, and have three or four volumes. The stories are all so pretty 
I can't say which I like best. 

I would like to write of the lovely scenery around here, but I 
wont tire yon any more ; so I remain, your new and admiring little 
friend, Edith C . 

Bessie H., Brooklyn: Concord, Mass. 

Beiri t, Svri.\, 1884. 

Dear St. Nicholas : A young girl and her little brother were 
out on a boating expedition with some friends. The little boy 
asked his sister to throw a wet handkerchief on the top of the water, 
in such a way as to make it puff out like a balloon. She replied 
that she could n't do it then with her gloves on, and told him to 
wait. He said nothing more about it until they had landed, and 
then he repeated his request. She again told him that he must 
wait until they reached home, and then remarked to one of the 
party that her little brother seemed to think that it was a great 
attainment to be able to make a balloon out of a handkerchief. 

Was that a correct use of the word "attainment," or would it 
have been better to say " accomplishment " ? 

We have been having quite a little controversy as to whether or 
not it was making a right use of the word, and so I thought I would 
ask you to settle the question for us, and we will agree on whatever 
you decide. Yours truly, Alfreda P. 

It was an allowable use of the word attainment, but accomplish- 
ment would have been a better word in that special instance. 

Hazleton, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We have taken your magazine for eight 
years, and like it very much. I like Miss Alcott's and Frank 
R. Stockton's stories very much. 

The town in which I live is all undermined by coal-mines, and 
sometimes parts of the town sink down, and the outskirts of the 
town are all full of mine-holes. I am thirteen years old, and I don't 
think I shall ever be too old to read you. Yours, etc., F. C. L. 

We heartily thank the following young friends for the very 
pleasant letters we have received from them: Stephanie Marie 
Coster, Georgie and Lucy, Victorin, A. McClees, Maybell E. H., 
Kate, " Edie," Clifton D. Pettis, "Papa and I," Christine M., 
Gettie Nagel, Meredith Hanna, A. E. C., May Bell Mayer. Flor- 
ence P. Bosse, Stanley J. T. Platts, Mabel H. Chase, C. Highe, 
Reid Simpson, Blanche McC, Flora Gros, Mabel Pollard, P. W. S., 
Louise Adele Ken, George Walkem, Norah Hamilton, M. E. K., 
L. I., Gussie, Benny, and "Skye," Mary B., L. F. L., Kittle 
Greenwood A. , Geo. W. Stearns, A. Lincoln Fisher, K. Emmet, 
W. B.. Lillie. Virginia D'Orfeuille Start. 

1884. I 



To ALL the members and friends of (he Agassiz Association we 
wish a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

Although the summer has its advantages in affording objects for 
collection, and warm days that invite us out-of-doors, yet tlie winter 
is, after all, quite as friendly to our work, for we all are quietly at 
home or at school, and have leisure for that patient study of our 
specimens which is our real purpose. 

The most prominent feature noticeable this month in the progress 
of our Association is the greater earnestness of the members and 
the more substantial character of the work reported. 

Superintendents of schools are coming to take an interest in the 
A. A., and they see in it a practical solution of the problem of intro- 
ducing the study of Nature into the public schools. 

The effect of our Convention is apparent in the formation of new 
Chapters, and in the stimulus received by old Chapters. 

The Chapters of Iowa have formed a State Assembly, like the 
city Assemblies of Philadelphia, Boston, P.uffalo, etc., and the invita- 
tions to their next annual meeting, in August, 1885, are already 
issued. It will not be long before all our larger cities will have these 
valuable and powerful Assemblies. 

Let each one do his utmost to raise the standard of the work done 
in his Chapter, and to e.\tend the knowledge and influence of the 
general Association. By the way, there is properly only one 
"Agassiz Association," consisting of many local Societies. It is not 
right, therefore, to speak of the Blanktown Agassiz Association," 
but rather of the " Blanktown Chapter of the St. Nicholas 
Agassiz Association." Any other form leads to confusion. The 
new Chapters of the month arc as follows : 

New Chai'TERS. 

No. Name. No. 0/ Monbcrs. Address. 

703 Philadelphia (X) 12. ,S. K. Biddle, 449 W. 2d St. 

704 Canastota, N. Y 5. .Chas. E. Beebee. 

705 Philadelphia <Y) 9.. Miss Edith Earpe, 641 N. 

43d St. 

706 Canandaigua, N. Y 12. .Lansing Burnett. 

707 Spenceville, Cal 14. .Miss Maude M. Smith. 

708 Poughkeepsie, N. Y 4..P. T. Bourne. 

709 Philadelphia (Z) ii,.H. D. Allen, 2305 St. Albans 


710 San Bernardino, Cal 20.. A. S. Guthrie. 

711 Glens Falls, N. Y 5 . . E. R. Wait. 

712 Brooklyn, N. Y. (I) 4..L E. Underbill, 227 Ray- 

mond St. 

713 Old Chatham, N. Y 12.. R. W. Morey. 

714 Concord, N. H 6, Brian C. Roberts, 76 Rum- 

ford St. 

715 Bloomington. Ill 4 .. Spencer Ewing. 


545 Fall River, Mass O. K. Hawes. 


The Leno.v Chapter has for exchange, geodes and various fine 
mineral specimens, mounted woods (labeled), birds' eggs, and 
Central American ferns. Address for particulars, William Andreus, 
Lenox Academy. Lenox, Mass. 

The Sec. of Salisbury, Mass. (A), is Ralph Halley, instead of Miss 
Helen Montgomery. 

Minerals, insects, and birds, for large and rare insects, or other 
specimens in general. — G. W. Altman, 534 Clinton St., Buffalo, 
N. Y. 

I should like to correspond with Edgar G. Banta. His name is 
almost like mine. — Edward G. Banta, Osceola, Iowa. 

Perfect A rgyjuiis Cybcle, Argytmis Bellona, and Vanessa Ceerdui, 
for other butterflies. — Miss McFarland, 1727 F. St. N. W. 
Washington, D. C. 


138. Stvarms 0/ Bittterjlies, — We have had a swarm of thou- 
sands of golden-brown butterflies on our maples. — E. G. Banta, 
Osceola, Iowa. 

139. Cardmal Head (?), — I found near Long Branch, in a 
clump of elder, the nest of a large bird. The bird is black, and has 
a cardinal head. The nest was fully five inches in length and three 
in width, and was fastened by four corners to the branch. The eggs. 

three or four in number, were of a lilac tinge, with irregular black 
marks at the larger end. I should like to know what bird it is. — 
Mary H. Tatnall. 

142. Insecis ill Snoiv. — August 5, I was coming down one of 
the highest mountains of Colorado — Grey's Peak. Near the sum- 
mit was a large snow-bank, far above timber-line. In this snow was 
a large number of living msects, Hies, mosquitoes, and bugs. 
Without moving I counted over twelve different kinds. They were 
burrowing in the snow and traveling around in their little caves. 
Perhaps the hanks are the breeding-places for the mountain insects, 
as ponds are the homes of the insects lower down. 

It will be worth white for the members of the clubs near the 
mountains to study the snow-banks and note down what they see. — 
Rev. W. I). Westervelt, Denver, Colorado. 

143. Cynthia Hmitcra. — This butterfly, hitherto very rare, has 
this year been quite abundant here. I foimd the lar\'a; on the 
" Dusty Miller." They are black at first and covered with spines, 
but become light gray as they grow older. There were three broods 
this season. — Eugene H, Home, Stratham, N. Y. 

144. Katydids. — "When a boy I lived in Kentucky. Black 
locust-trees surrounded our house. When the katydids began to 
sing in the evening, we children used to go out into the yard and 
touch tree after tree with our fingers. No matter how light the 
touch, it caused the singing to cease, and a moment or two after our 
fingers were removed it would recommence. Sometimes there would 
be as many as ten katydids on a single tree, and no matter how 
close we approached, or how near we placed our fingers to the tree, 
the music would continue ; but the lightest touch would cause it to 
stop instantaneously. At the time, I did this for mere amusement; 
but, in thinking of it in later years, I am puzzled to account for it." 
Such is the singular story told me by a gentleman in whom I have 
the utmost confidence. Have others of the A. A. had any similar 
experience, or will any one give an explanation of this strange fact? 
— Frank M. Davis, St. Louis, Mo. 

145. IVIteclbitg." — I noticed in the June St. Nicholas your 
question in regard to the so-called " wheelbug." 

Its scientific name is Rcdmnns novenarius say; Prionotus crista- 
tus (Linn.): the eggs are of a square-flasked shape, and are de- 
posited in a hexagonal mass, containing seventy or more. The 
young larva; are blood-red, with black markings. The larvae, pupa;, 
and perfect insects feed on any insects they can overpower, not 
sparing one of their own kind. The imago is a singular insect, of 
slow motions when undisturbed, and has on the back of the thorax 
a wheel-like crest, having from eight to thirteen prongs, which is not 
possessed by the larva; and pupa;. — Yours truly, Alonzo H, Stew- 
art, Chapter 275 (E), No. 204 Fourth St., S. E. Washington, D. C, 

Reports from Chapters. 

Wilmlngton, Del., October, 1884. 

Dear Sir : This Friday we will commence a new year of hard 
study of natural history. Last year we collected a great many 
natural objects, but I think that this year there will be more work 
done than before. Hoping that it will be of more interest to us, I 
remain, yours, etc., A. E. Keigwin, Sec. 

691, Red Bank, N. J, This is our first report, and we have little 
matter yet to present beyond the fact of our organization. The sug- 
gestions given in the hand-book were found very helpful ; and, with 
their assistance, we experienced no difficulty in drafting a constitu- 
tion and putting ourselves into working order. 

Our first need being a cabinet, it was agreed that each member 
should be his own judge as to form and material. To one. it pro\ cd 
to be a set of shelves : to another, a series of drawers ; while, for the 
general collection, we constructed a larger cabinet, toward which 
each one is to contribute. 

Our attention has been confined this summer mostly to the gather- 
ing of sea-shells, birds' eggs, and different \'arieties of leaves, to tht 
arranging of which we purpose devoting our winter evenings. 

Thanks to St. Nichol.\s for pointing out to us the way to convert 
work into play, and to mingle so admirably pleasure and instniction. 
— Persie B. Sickels, Sec. 

256, Newton Upper Falls. Chapter 256, A. A., is still advancing. 
We have added two new members. One of them is a girl who is 
very much interested in natural histor\'. especially entomology. She 
is a very pleasant girl, and one whom we all like, but is very unfor- 
timate in one respect. For a long time her eyes have troubled her, 
and now the doctors tell her that her eyesight will never be stronger, 
and that eventually she will be blind. So for her the Agassiz As- 
sociation is a help, — one thing in which she can niterest herself. 

In our study we have dropped all other departments of science, 
and give our whole attention to birds. We find it ven," fascinating, 
and some of our members are growing to be quite expert in distin- 
guishing the numerous birds, and in describing their nests and eggs, 
One member reports finding bluebirds' eggs the 9th of March, 


THE R I D D L E - B O X . 


which is earlier than ornithologists give the time. One question that 
perplexes us, and upon which we desire more knowledge, is, Do 
robins and other birds, if their nests are troubled and some of the 
eggs taken, eat the remaining eggs, or otherwise destroy them; and 
if not, what does become of the other eggs .'' For often they are 
gone when it is almost certain that no one has approached the nest 
since some were taken. One member insists that the birds eat their 
own eggs. Some of the A. A. are probably wise enough to know. 
— Sincerely yours, Josie M. Hopkins, Sec. 

47, Hazleton, Luzerne Co. , Pa. Harlan H. Ballard. Dear Sir : 
I submit to you our third report. Our membership has increased to 
eight, and we expect soon to give an entertainment. Have our 
cabinet full to overllowing, and will soon get a show-case. 

In answer to the question in report 42, — how to get fossils from 
the rock, — the slate in which the fossils here (carboniferous age) are 
found has a great cleavage, and even in impressions, and more so in 
t'libsils, will crack open at the specimen. The fossils generally have 
.1 thin covering of glossy coal, which preserves the form and per- 
h:ips makes them easier to get out. — Yours very truly, Thos. F. 

686, Lunenburg, Mass. Our days of infancy are being passed 
quietly, but wc feel that we are growing. We number seven active 
and three honorary members. 

We have met regularly every other Saturday but one since our or- 
ganization, .^s a safeguard against the admission of any but 
workers to active membership, we have introduced the custom of 
making the acceptance of an election consist in reading a paper be- 
fore the Chapter, and we find that this regulation works very well. 

Each member is expected once in two months to read a paper or 
give a talk before the Chapter on some subject which he has been 
especially working up. 

The chief difficulty we have to contend with is a hanging back in 
this matter of writing essays ; in this difficulty we presume we are 
not alone. — J. S. Pray. 

Physical GEOGRAt-Hv. 

We conclude this report by giving you the following very kind 
offer of Professor A. Ramsay, of London : 

"Although I live a long way off, I should like to be allowed to 
show my appreciation of your work by offering to help in any way 1 

" This, I am well aware, does not amount to much, because my 
time is so fully occupied with scientific matters in this country; but 
whatever I may want in this respect shall, I hope, be made up in 
willingness. I will \ nlunteer to do what I can to answer question^ 
in Physical Geography. — Yours faithfully, A. Ramsay, 4 Coopt-r 
Road, Acton, London, W." 

[ir/ii the Secretaries of Chapters kindly be punctual in semiitig 
in their bi-mo}ithly reports ?\ 

President's address : I\Ir. Haijlan H. P.allard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, 

Lenox, Mass. 


Each of the sixteen small pictures in the above illustration may be described by a word of f >ur letters. Take the first letter of the ftn>t 
four words, the second of the second four, the third letter of the third four, and the last letter of the last four words. These sixteen letter* 
will form a Latin quotation that is always associated w ith the Emperor Constantino. 


THE R I D D L E - B O X . 


This differs from the ordinai'y cross-word enigma, by requiring 
two answers instead of one. The first letter of each answer is " in 
noisy, not in still," the second " in slaughter, not in kill," and so 
on until the two words have been spelled. One of these words is a 
name for Christmas Day ; the other, a name for the season. 

In noisy, not in still ; 

In slaughter, not in kill; 

In trammel, not in hook; 

In viewing, not iii look ; 

In rivet, not in wed ; 

In living, not in dead ; 

In trident, not ni prong; 

In yearning, not in long. 



Each of the words described contains eight letters. When rightly 
selected and placed one below the other in the order here given, the 
third row of letters (reading downward) will spell a festive season; 
and the sixth row, a parasitic growth much in use at that season. 

Cross-wokds : i. Appeased. 2. Acting. 3. Fondled. 4. Arch- 
bishops. 5. Assaulted. 6. Those who provide food. 7. One who 
reckons. 8. Soldiers trained to serve either on horseback or on foot. 
9. Those who examine metallic ores. CYRIL deane. 


Mv Jirst was so dense that second lost my way. " Oh, third ! " 
said second, " this Jirsi is enough to whole anybody." wax. 


). Syncopate a blemish from to fail of the intended effect, and 
leave muddy. 2. Syncopate a limb of a man from heating, and leave 
a limb of a fowl. 3. Syncopate a little demon from artlessly, and leave 
artful. 4. Syncopate a negative from to imply, and leave the fruit 
of the pine. 5. Syncopate a label from the childishness of old age, 
and leave a deer. 6. Syncopate a pony from the weight of goods 
carried in a ship, and leave sound. 7. Syncopate a tavern from a 
small fish, and lea\ e to cut grass. 8. Syncopate the oily part of 
milk from shrieking, and leave to utter melodious sounds, g. Synco- 
pate a possessive pronoun from at what place, and leave a personal 
pronoun. 10. Syncopate a sign from an instant, and leave a familiar 
.ibbreviation. 11. Syncopate to cut off from muddy, and leave an 

emissary, i-z. Syncopate an emmet from a closet, and leave to in- 
spect closely. 13. Syncopate to work for from cautious, and leave 
a color. 

The initials of the syncopated words, arranged in the order here 
given, will spell the name of an ancient bishop whose feast is cele- 
brated in December. paul kekse. 

Reflected. 3. 
A boy's nick- 


I. Nor liberal toward the opinion of others. 
Measured. 4 An architectural embellishment, 
name. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. In emend. 


I. Behead an exclamation, and leave to need. 2. Behead a shelf, 
and leave a margin. 3. Behead a summary of Christian belief, and 
leave a pastoral pipe, 4, Behead oxygen in a condensed form, and 
leave a belt. 5. Behead a pronoun, and leave an inheritor. 6. 
Behead a hard blow, and leave a bunch. 

The beheaded letters will spell the name of a well-known writer. 



I. In diamond. 2. A title, 3. Lakes. 4. Chooses. 5. Guid- 
ance. 6. To correct. 7. Inflexible. 8. A kind of sauce for fish. 
9. In diamond. "navajo." 

The diagonals, beginning at the top, spell the name of a plant 
sometimes called the Christmas-flower. 

Cross-wokds : i. An evergreen. 2. To break. 3. A military 
salute. 4. To pace. 5. A strong rope. 6. A manufacturing town 
of England. 7. An inundation. 8. A subterranean chapel 9. To 
elevate. dvcie. 


Rebus. " Of all those arts in which the wise excel, 

Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well." 
Numerical Enigma. 

'•praise Him for our harvest store, 
He hath filled the garner floor; 
And for richer food than this, 
Pledge of everlasting bliss." 
Charade. Sea-man-ship. 

Invekted Pyramid. Across: i. Barbarian. 2. Sealion. 3. 
Drips. 4. Eve. 5. E. 

Half-square. i. Sarcastic. 2. Aversion. 3. Relapse. 4 
Craves. 5. Aspen. 6. Siss. 7, Toe. 8. In. g. C. 

Peculiar Acrostics. Fourth line. Thanksgiving: sixth line 
Proclamation. Cross-words : i. mulTiPlex. 2. cipHeRing. 3. 
bel.VbOred. 4. barNaCles. 5. sacKcLoth. 6. conStAble. 7. 
irif'.aMous. 8. digltAted. g. priVaTion. 10. decisions. 11, 
chiNcOugh, 12, conGeNial. 

Cube. From i to 2. rascal ; 2 to 6, leaves ; 5 to 6, dishes ; i to 5, 
rimmed; 3 to 4, tomtit; 4 to 8, tether; 7 to 8, tanner; 3 to 7, 
tumult; I to 3, rat; 2 to 4, lit; 6 to 8, sir; 5 to 7, dot. 

Combination Puzzle. Primals, Name; finals, Less. Cross- 
words: I. NelL. 2. AchE. 3. MisS. 4- EdS. 

AIet.\morphoses. I. One, ode, odd, add, aid, rid, rod, cod. coo, 
too, two. 2. Fish, fist, gist, girt, gird, bird. 3. North, forth, forts, 
fords, lords, loads, roads, roods, roots, boots, booth, sooth, south. 
4, Earth, garth, girth, girts, girls, gills, galls, gales, gates, hates, 
hater, water. 5. East, last, lest, west. 6. Calf, call, cell, sell, seal, 
veal, 7. Pink, pick, peck, peak, beak, beam, seam, slam, slag, 
slug, slue, blue. 8. Lion, lien, lies, ties, tier, bier, beer, bear. 
Pl Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, 
Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green. 
Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing 
With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen. 

" Third p/ November.'^ 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
.iddressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street. New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the October Niimber were received, before October 20, from Arthur Gride — Blanche Sherr\- — 
-Maggie T, Turrill — Francis W. Islip — Hugh and Cis — " Daisy, Pansy, and Sweet William " — Harry Wheelock. 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Nimber were received, before October ro, from Mabel L. and Florence E., i — Paul 
Reese, lo — " Onlagiskit," 7 — Louise 1^. Pitkin, i — Alice R. Douglass, 3 — " Navajo," 7 — No name. New York, i — " Luck," S — Harry 
Creed, i — Albert Casey, i — May Lanahan, 3 — Hallie Woods, i — " Pepper and I\Iaria," g — M. Simpkins, 5 — Clare and Constance 
Hubert, 5 — M. Barnett and M. Gowm, 1 — W. Davis, i — G. F. F.. i — D. C, 3 — Claire Starkey, i — Pearl W., i — Victor, i — Ida 
Maude Preston, 7 — Mabel and Frankie, 3 — Lilian Osborne, i — Mabel C. 1 — Ella Vivian, 5 — Lidie Le Maistre, i — Johnny Duck, 11 
— Cora Fclson and Theresa Scott, 2 — L. E. M., i — Bob Howard, — Harn,' J. Light, 5 — "Robin Hood," 7 — Louise, Addie. and 
Eleanor, 6 — Alma Hoffman, 2 — Efl^e K. Talboys, 6 — Jennie E. Denman. i — C. M. L., 9 — Walter Kinsev, i — H. H. C, i — Maude 
Bugbee, 5 — S. R. T., 12 — E. M. Lewis, 8— Blanche McC, i — " Tweedledum and Tweedledee." 4 — L.'H. B.. 2 — Tiny Puss, Mitz 
and Muff, 10 — S, H. Hepner, i — Pencroft," 4 — May Warren, 3 — Blanche Sherr\', " Grantham," London, 6 — Herbert Gaytes, 5 — 
Alex. Laidlaw, 4 — Margie Ware, i — Pliny O. Dorman, i — Emma A. Warner, S — Slarian C. Hatch, 5 — L. L, q — Alice M. Burbank, 
I — Miles Turpin. S — Olive. Ida. and Lillie G., 4 — Lulu Fargo, 3 — Edith L. Young. 3 — T. R. and E. R. S- , 12 — E. G. C. and H. E. 
B., 6 — " Shumway Hen and Chickens," 10 — " Two Cousins," 6 — S. and S. , - 8 — Clara and Mamma, 12 — Jennie L. Dupuis. 3 — " I, 
Me, and Myself." 2 — Ida and Edith Swanwick, 6 — " Captain Nemo," 4 — E. Muriel ( 'irundy, 8 — "Jimmy Jones." 4 — Harr\' S. Adams, 
3 — Daisy, 7 — Papa, Eleanor, and Maude Peart, and J. Spiller, 7 — Marjorie L., 3 — G. and A. Cooley, 3 — Mabel Cholwell I^Iiller, lo — 
George Habenicht, 2 — Petsy and Bcatic, 2 — Mary P. Stockett, 8— Hessie D. Boylston, 2 — Tom and George, 4. 







With her funny littli; glasses you 'd have thought her very 

If it was n't for the laughter that was peeping from her eyes; 
Just the queerest and the dearest Httle schoul-ma'ani ever 

Whose way of teaching boys and girls was certainly her own. 

' I give my brightest pupil," in a pleasant tone she said, 
' A little corner by himself to show that he is head, 
And, to spare the tender feelings of the dullest boy, I put 
All the others in a circle so you can't tell which is foot. 

' Whenever any pupil in his lessons docs n't miss, 
I encourage his endeavors with a penny sugar-kiss; 
And, since this slight upon the rest might too severely fall, 
I take the box of kisses and I hand 'em round to all. 

' I 've asked them what they 'd like to be a dozen times or 

And each, I find, intends when grown to keep a candy store; 


So, thinking that they ought to have some knowledge of their 

I 've put a little stove in, just to show them how it 's made. 

' Enthusiastic? Bless you, it is wonderful to see 
How interested in such things a little child can be; 
And, from their tempting taffy and their luscious lollipops, 
I 'm sure they Ml do me credit when they come to open shops." 

And, with a nod that plainly showed how free she was from 

She deftly smoothed the wrinkles of her snowy apron out — 
Just the queerest and the dearest little school-ma'am ever known, 
Whose way of teaching boys and girls was really her own ! 

By Malcolm Douglas. 

A " C(.)-AS-^■OU-l'LEASfc: " KACH. 


Vol. XII. JANUARY, 1885. No. 3. 

[Copyright, 1884, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Celia Thaxter. 

Said the Child to the youthful Year : 
" What hast thou in store for me, 
O giver of beautiful gifts, what cheer, 
What joy dost thou bring with thee ? " 

" My seasons four shall bring 

Their treasures : the winter's snows, 
The autumn's store, and the flowers of spring, 
And the summer's perfect rose. 

" All these and more shall be thine, 
Dear Child, — but the last and best 
Thyself must earn by a strife divine. 
If thou wouldst be truly blest. 

" Wouldst know this last, best gift? 

'T is a conscience clear and bright, 
A peace of mind which the soul can lift 
To an infinite delight. 

" Truth, patience, courage, and love 
If thou unto me canst bring, 
I will set thee all earth's ills above. 
O Child, and crown thee a King ! " 

Vol. Xll. — II. 



or, what followed reading "alice's adventures in wonderland." 

By Charles E. Carryl. 


Chapter M. 


" Oh, dear ! " cried Davy, speaking aloud in his 
distress, " I do wish people and things would n't 
change about so 1 Just so soon as ever 1 get to a 
place, it goes away, and I 'm somewhere else ! " 
And the little boy's heart began to beat rapidly 
as he looked about him ; for the wood was very 
dark and solemn and still. 

Presently the trees and bushes directly before 
him moved silently apart and showed a broad path 
beautifully overgrown with soft turf; and as he 
stepped forward upon it, the trees, and bushes 
beyond moved silently aside in their turn, and 
the path grew before him, as he walked along, 
like a green carpet slowly unrolling itself through 

the wood. It made him a little uneasy at first to 
find that the trees behind him came together again, 
quietly blotting out the path, — but then he 
thought : 

" It really does n't matter so long as I don't 
want to go back," and so he walked along very 

By and by, the path seemed to give itself a 
shake, and, turning abruptly around a large tree, 
brought Davy suddenly upon a little butcher's shop, 
snugly buried in the wood. There was a sign on 
the shop, reading, "Robin Hood: Venison," 
and Robin himself, wearing a clean white apron 
over his suit of Lincoln green, stood in the door-way, 
holding a knife and steel as though he were on the 
lookout for customers. As he caught sight of Davy, 
he said, "Steaks? Chops?" in an inquiring way, 
quite like an every-day butcher. 

■ 885.] 


" Venison is deer, is n't it ? " said Davy, looking 
up at tlie sign. 

" Not at all," said Robin Hood, promptly. " It 's 
the cheapest meat about here." 

"Oh, I didn't mean that," replied Davy; "I 
meant that it comes off of a deer." 

'■ Wrong again ! " said Robin Hood, triumph- 
antly. " It comes on a deer. I cut it off myself. 
Steaks ? Chops ? " 

"No, I thank you," said Davy, giving up the 
argument. "I don't think I want anything to cat 
just now." 

" Then what did you come here for? " said Robin 
Hood, peevishly. " What 's the good, I 'd like to 
know, of standing around and staring at an honest 
tradesman ? " 

"Well, you see," said Davy, beginning to feel 
frightened, " I did n't know you were this sort 
of person at all. I always thought you were 
an archer, like — like William Tell, you know." 

" That 's all a mistake about Tell," said Robin 
Hood, contemptuously. "He was n't an archer. 
He was a cross-bow man, — the Grossest one that 
ever lived. By the way, you don't happen to want 
any steaks or chops to-day, do you ? " 

" No, not to-day, thank you," said Davy, very 

" To-morrow?" inquired Robin Hood. 

" No, 1 thank you," said Davy again. 

"Will you want any yesterday?" inquired 
Robin Hood, rather doubtfully. 

" 1 think not," said Davy, beginning to laugh. 

Robin Hood stared at him for a moment with a 
puzzled expression, and then walked into his little 
shop and Davy turned away. As he did so, the 
path behind him began to unfold itself through the 
wood, and looking back over his shoulder, he saw 
the little shop swallowed up by the trees and bushes. 
Just as it disappeared from view, he caught a 
glimpse of a charming little girl peeping out of a 
latticed window beside the door. She wore a little 
red hood and looked wistfully after Davy as the 
shop went out of sight. 

" 1 verily believe that was Little Red Riding 
Hood," said Davy to himself, " and I never knew 
before that Robin Hood was her father ! " The 
thought of Red Riding Hood, however, brought the 
wolf to Davy's mind, and he began to anxiously 
watch the thickets on either side of the path, and 
even went so far as to whistle softly to himself, by 
way of showing that he was n't in the least afraid. 
He went on and on, hoping the forest would soon 
come to an end, until the path shook itself, again 
disclosing to view a trim little brick shop in the 
densest part of the thicket. It had a neat little 
green door, with a bright brass knocker upon it, 
and a sien above it. bearins- the words. 

" Sham-Sham : Bargains in Watches." 

" Well ! " exclaimed Davy in amazement. '' Of 
all places to sell watches in, that 's the prepos- 
terest ! " But as he turned to walk away, he found 
the trees and bushes for the first time blocking his 
way, and refusing to move aside. This distressed 
him very much, until it suddenly occurred to him 
that this must mean that he was to go into the 
shop ; and after a moment's hesitation he went up 
and knocked timidly at the door with the bright 
brass knocker. There was no response to the 
knock, and Davy cautiously pushed open the door 
and went in. 

The place was so dark that at first he could 
sec nothing, although he heard a rattling sound 
coming from the back part of the shop, but pres- 
ently he discovered the figure of an old man, 
busily mixing something in a large iron pot. As 
Davy approached him, he saw that the pot was 
full of watches, which the old man was stirring 
about with a ladle. The old creature was very 
curiously dressed in a suit of rusty green velvet, 
with little silver buttons sewed over it, and he wore 
a pair of enormous yellow-leather boots ; and 
Davy was quite alarmed at seeing that a broad 
leathern belt about his waist was stuck full of old- 
fashioned knives and pistols. Davy was about to 
retreat quickly from the shop, when the old man 
looked up and said, in a peevish voice : 

" How many watches do you want ? " and Davy 
saw that he was a very shocking-looking person, 
with wild, staring eyes, and with a skin as dark as 
mahogany, as if he had been soaked in some- 
thing for ever so long. 

"How many?" repeated the old man impa- 

"If you please," said Davy, " 1 don't think I '11 
take any watches to-day. 1 '11 call " 

"Drat 'em !" interrupted the old man, angrily 
beating the watches with his ladle, " I 'II never 
get rid of 'em — never ! " 

" It seems to me — " began Davy, soothingly. 

"Of course it does !" again interrupted the old 
man as crossly as before. "Of coui'se it does! 
That 's because you v/ont listen to the wh)- of it." 

" But I ivi/l listen," said Davy. 

"Then sit down on the floor and hold up your 
ears," said the old man. 

Davy did as he was told to do, so far as sitting 
down on the floor was concerned, and the old man 
pulled a paper out of one of his boots, and glaring 
at Davy over the top of it, said angrily : 

"You're a pretty spectacle! I'm another. 
What does that make ? " 

" A pair of spectacles. 1 suppose." said Davy. 

" Ritrht !" said the old man. " Here thev are." 





And pulling an enormous pair of spectacles out of 
the other boot he put them on. and began reading 
aloud from his paper ; 

" ^ My rccollectest thoughts arc those 
Which T remember yet ; 
And bearing on, as you W suppose, 
The things I don't forget. 

" 'But my rcscmblcst thoughts arc less 
Alike than they should be ; 
A state of things, as you 'II confess, 
You very seldom see.'" 

"Clever, isn't it?" said the old man, peeping 
proudly over the top of the paper. 

"Yes, I think it is," said Daw, rather doubt- 

"Now comes the cream of the whole thing," 
said the old man. '•Just listen to this : 

" 'And yet the mostest thought I love 
Is what no one believes — ' " 

Here the old man hastily crammed the paper 
into his boot again, and stared solemnlv at Daw. 

"What is it?" said Davy, after waiting a mo- 
ment for him to complete the verse. The old 
man glanced suspiciously about the shop, and 
then added, in a hoarse whisper : 

" ' That Tni the sole survivor of 
The famous Forty Thieves!'" 

" But I thought the Forty Thieves were all boiled 
to death," said Davy. 

" All but me," said the old man, decidedly. " I 
was in the last jar, and when they came to me the 
oil was off the boil, or the boil was off the oil, — I 
forget which it was, — but it ruined my digestion 
and made me look like a ginger-bread man. What 
larks we used to have ! " he continued, rocking him- 
self back and forth and chuckling hoarsely. " Oh ! 
we were a precious lot, we were ! I 'm Sham-Sham, 
you know. Then there was Anamanamona Mike 
— he was an Irishman from Hullaboo — and Bar- 
celona Boner — he was a Spanish chap, and boned 
everything he could lay his hands on. Strike's real 
name was Gobang ; but we called him Strike, because 
he was always asking for more pa)-. Hare Ware 
was a poacher, and used to catch Welsh rabbits 
in a trap; we called him "Hardware" because 




he had so much steal about him. Good joke, 
was n't it ? " 

" Oh, very ! " said Uav) , laughing. 

" Frown Whack was a scowUng fellow with a 
club," continued Sham-Sham. " My ! how he 
could hit ! And Harico and Barico were a couple 
of bad Society Islanders. Then there was Wee 
Wo ; he was a little Chinese chap, and we used 
to send him down the chimneys to open front 
doors for us. He used to say that sooted him to 
perfection. Wac " 

At this moment an extraordinary commotion be- 
gan among the watches. There was no doubt about 
it, the pot was boiling. And Sham-Sham, angrily 
crying out " Don't tell mc a watched pot never 
boils ! " sprang to his feet, and pulling a pair of 
pistols from his belt, began firing at the watches, 
which were now bubbling over the side of the pot 




and rolling about the floor ; while Davy, who had 
had quite enough of Sham-Sham by this time, ran 
out of the door. 

To his great surprise, he found himself in a sort 
of under-ground passage lighted by grated openings 
overhead ; but as he could still hear Sham-Sham, 
who now seemed to be firing all his pistols at once. 

he did not hesitate, but ran along the passage at 
the top of his speed. 

Presently he came in sight of a figure hurrying 
toward him with a lighted candle, and as it ap- 
proached he was perfectly astounded to see that 
it w-as Sham-Sham himself, dressed up in a neat 
calico frock and a dimity apron like a housekeeper, 
and with a bunch of keys hanging at his girdle. 
The old man seemed to be greatly agitated, and 
hurriedly whispering, "We thought you were 
never coming, sir ! " led the way through the pas- 
sage in great haste. Daw noticed that they 
were now in a sort of tunnel made of fine grass. 
The grass had a delightful fragrance, like new- 
mown hay, and was neatly wound around the 
tunnel like the inside of a bird's nest. The next 
moment they came out into an open space in 
the forest, where, to Dav)-'s amazement, the 

Cockalorum was sitting bolt upright in an arm- 
chair, with its head wrapped up in flannel. 

It seemed to be night, but the place was lighted 
up by a large chandelier that hung from the 
branches of a tree, and Davy saw that a number 
of odd-looking birds were roosting on the chande- 
lier among the lights, gazing down upon the poor 




Cockalorum with a melancholy interest. As Sham- 
Sham made his appearance with Davy at his heels, 
there was a sudden commotion among the birds, 
and they all cried out together, " Here 's the doc- 
tor ! " Before Davy could reply, the Hole-keeper 

" postmen are always so dreadfully busy. Would 
you mind delivering a letter for me ? " he added, 
lowering his voice confidentially. 

"Oh, no," answered Davy, rather reluctantly; 
" not if it will be in my way." 

" It 's sure to be in your way 
because it 's so big," said the Hole- 
keeper ; and taking the letter out 
of his pocket, he handed it to Davy. 
It certainly was a very large letter, 
curiously folded like a dinner-nap- 
kin and sealed in a great many 
places with red and white pepper- 
mint drops ; and Davy was much 
pleased to see that it was addressed : 

Captain Robinson Crusoe, 
Jcran Fcranderperandamam, 
B. G. 


suddenly made his appearance with his great book, 
and hurriedly turning over the leaves, said, pointing 
to Davy, " He is n't a doctor. His name is Gloo- 
pitch." At these words, there arose a long, wail- 
ing cry, the lights disappeared, and Davy found 
himself on a broad path in the forest with the 
Hole-keeper walking quietly beside him. 

Chapter ^''1I. 


" You had no right to tell those birds my name 
was Gloopitch ! " said Davy, angrily. " That 's the 
second time you 'vc got it wrong." 

" Well, it's of no consequence," said the Hole- 
keeper, complacently. " I '11 make it something 
else the next time. I!y the way, ) ou 're not the 
postman, are you ? " 

" Of course I 'm not," said Davy. 

"I 'm glad of that," said the Hole-keeper; 

"What does B. G. stand for?" 
said Davy. 

" Baldergong's Geography, of 
course," said the Hole-keeper. 

" But why do you put tJiat on 
the letter?" inquired Davy. 

"Because you can't find Jeran 
Fcranderperandamam anywhere 
else, stupid," said the Hole-keeper, 
impatiently. " But I can't stop to 
argue about it now," and saying 
this, he turned into a side path, 
and disappeared in the wood. 

As Davy walked mournfully 
along, turning the big letter over 
and over in his hands, and feeling 
very confused by the Hole-keeper's 
last remark, he presently saw, lying on the w^alk 
before him, a small book beautifully bound in 
crimson morocco, and picking it up, he saw that 
it was marked on the cover ; 


" Perhaps this will tell me where to go," he 
thought as he opened it ; but it proved to be far 
more confusing than the. Hole-keeper himself had 
been. The first page was headed " How to frill 
griddlepigs "; the second page, "Two ways of 
frumpling crumbles" ; the third page, " The best 
snub for feastie spralls " ; and so on, until Davy felt 
as if he were taking leave of his senses. He was 
just about to throw the book down in disgust, when 
it was suddenly snatched out of his hands; and 
turning hastily, he saw a savage glaring at him 
from the bushes. 

Now Davy knew perfectly well, as all little boys 
should know, that when you meet a savage in the 




woods you must get behind a tree as quickly as 
possible ; but he did this in such haste that he 
found to his dismay that he and the savage had 
chosen the same tree, and in the next instant the 
savage was after him. The tree was a very large 
orfe, and Davy in his fright went around it a num- 
ber of times so rapidly that he presently caught 
sight of the back of the savage, and he was sur- 
prised to see that he was no bigger than a large 
monkey ; and moreover, that he was gorgeously 
dressed in a beautiful blue coat, with brass buttons 
on the tail of it, and pink striped trousers. Davy 
had hardly made this discovery, when the savage 
suddenly disappeared through a door in a high 
paling of logs that began at the tree and extended 
in a straight line far out into the forest. 

It was very puzzling to Davy when it occurred 
to him that, although he had been around the 
tree at least a dozen times, he had never seen this 
paling before. The door through which the sav- 
age had disappeared also bothered him ; for, though 
it was quite an ordinary-looking door, it had no 
knob nor latch, nor indeed any way of being 
opened that he 
could perceive. 
On one side of 
it, in the pal- 
ing, was a row 
of bell-pulls, 
marked : 

that could possibly be imagined. There was a 
little lawn laid out on which a sort of soft fur was 
growing instead of grass, and here and there about 
the lawn, in the place of flower-beds, little foot- 
stools, neatly covered with carpet, were growing 
out of the fur. The trees were simply large feather- 
dusters ; but they seemed, nevertheless, to be 
growing in a very thriving manner. And on a 
little mound at the back of the lawn, stood a small 
house built entirely of big conch-shells with their 
pink mouths turned outward. This gave the house 
a very cheerful appearance, as if it were constantly 
on a broad grin. . 

The savage was sitting in the shade of one of the 
dusters, complacently reading the little red book ; 
and as Davy approached, he saw, to his aston- 
ishment, that he was the Goblin dressed up like 
an Ethiopian serenader. 

" Oh ! you dear, delicious old Goblin ! " cried 
Davy, in an ecstasy of joy at again finding his 
traveling-companion. " And were you the savage 
that was chasing me just now ? " 

The Goblin nodded his head, and exclaiming. 

Baker. 1 
Police. \ 
Candlestick- , 

maker. \ 

I I 

and on the door 
itself was a 
large knocker, 
marked : 



After exam- 
ining all these, 
Davy decided 

that, as he had a letter in charge, he was more of 
a postman than anything else, and he therefore 
raised the knocker and rapped loudly. Immedi- 
ately all the bell-pulls began flying in and out of 
their own accord, with a deafening clangor of bells 
behind the paling; and then the door swung slowly 
back upon its hinges. 

Davy walked through the door-way and found 
himself in the oddest-looking little country place 


" My, how you did cut and run ! " rolled over and 
over, kicking his heels about in a delirium of 

" Goblin," said Davy, gravely, " I think we can 
have just as good a time without any such doings 
as that. And now tell me what place this is. " 

Sindbad the Sailor's house," said the Goblin, 
sitting up again. 

" Reallv and trulv : 

said the delighted Daw. 




"Really and treally truly," said the Goblin. "All right," said Sindbad, "I'll give you a 
" And here he comes now ! " nautical one." 

Davy looked around and saw an old man coming Here he rose for a moment, hitched up his big 


toward them across the lawn. He was dressed in 
a Turkish costume, and wore a large turban and 
red morocco slippers turned up at the toes like 
skates ; and his white beard was so long that at 
every fourth step he trod upon it, and fell forward 
to the ground. He took no notice whatever of 
either Davy or the Goblin, and after falling down a 
number of times, took his seat upon one of the 
little carpet foot-stools. Taking off his turban, 
he began stirring about in it with a large wooden 
spoon. As he took off his turban, Davy saw that 
his head, which was perfectly bald, was neatly laid 
out in black and white scjuares like a chess-board. 

" He 's the most absent-minded story-teller that 
ever was born," said the Goblin, pointing with his 
thumb over his shoulder at Sindbad. 

As Davy and the Goblin sat down beside him, 
Sindbad hastily put on his turban, and after scowl- 
ing at Davy for a moment, said to the Goblin, 
" It 's no use telling liiin anything; he 's as deaf 
as a trunk." 

" Then tell it to me," said tlie Goblin, with great 
presence of mind. 

trousers like a sailor, cocked his turban on one 
side of his head, and sitting down again, began : 

'^A capital skip for an ocean trip, 

] I as ' TAc I Valloping Windo-cn-blind ' ; 
Ao gale that blew dismayed her crew 

Or troubled the captain's mind. 
The man at the wheel was taught to feel 

Contempt for the wildest blow, 
^Ind it often appeared, when the weather had 

That he \l been in his bunk below. 

" The boatswain's mate was very sedate, 
3 'et fond of amusement, too : 
And he played hop-scotch with the starboard 

M'Jiile the captain tickled the crew. 
. Ind the gunner we had was apparently mad, 

l-'or he sat on the after-rail. 
And fired salutes with the captain's boots, 

III the teeth of the booming gale. 


I 69 

"The captain sat in a commodores liat 

And dined in a royal way 
On toasted pigs and pickles and Jigs 

And gnmmery bread each day. 
But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such : 

For the diet lie gave the crew 
Was a number oj tons of hot-cross buns 

Prepared with sugar and glue. 

"All nautical pride we laid aside, 

And we cast the vessel ashore 
On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poolipooh smiles, 

And the Rtinibletumbiuidcrs roar. 
And we sat on the edge of a sandv ledge 

And shot at the whistling bee ; 
.4nd the cinnamon-bats wore water-proof hats 

As they danced in the sounding sea. 

"On rubgub bark, from dawn to dark. 
I I 'e fed, till we all had grown 
Uncommonly shrunk, — -when a Chinese junk 

Came by from the torriby zone. 
She was stubby and square, but we did n't much 

A nd we cheerily put to sea : 
And we left the crew of the Junk to cheiu 
The bark of the rubi^ub-trec." 

Sindbad was constantly stepping on his long beard 
and falling down ; and as he kept a firm hold of 
his companions' hands, the) all went down in a heap 
together a great many times. At last Sindbad's 
turban fell off, and as he sat up on the grass and 
began stirring in it again with his wooden spoon, 
Davy saw that it was full of broken chess-men. 

"It's a great improvement, isn't it.'"' said 

"What is?" said Davy, very much puzzled. 

"Wliy, this way of playing the game," said 
Sindbad, looking up at him complacently. "You 
see, you make all the moves at once." 

" It must be a very easy way," said Davy. 

" It 's nothing of the sort," said Sindbad, sharply. 
" There are more moves in one of my games than 
in twenty ordinary games ; " and here he stirred 
up the chess-men furiously for a moment, and 
then, triumphantly calling out "Check!" clapped 
the turban on his head. 

As they set out again for the little house, Davy 
saw that it was slowly moving around the edge 
of the lawn, as if it w ere on a circular railway, 
and Sindbad followed it around, dragging Davy 
and the Goblin with him, but never getting any 
nearer to the house. 

" Don't vou think," said Davy, after a while, 

Here Sindbad stopped, and gazed 
solemnly at Davy and the Gobhn. 

" If you please, sir," said Davy, 
respectfully, " what is gummery 
bread " 

" It 's bread stuffed w ith mo- 
lasses," said Sindbad; "but I 
never saw it anywhere, except 
aboard of ' The Prodigal Pig.' " 

" But," said Davy, in great 
surprise, " you said the name of . 
your ship was " 

" So I did, and so it was," in- 
terrupted Sindbad, testily. " The 
name of a ship sticks to it like wax 
to a wig. You can't change it." 

"Who gave it that name?" Ji 
said the Goblin. ^ 

" What name ? " said Sindbad, 
looking very much astonished. 

" Why, ' The Cantering Soup-tureen,' 
Goblin, winking at Davy. 

" Oh, that name ! " said Sindbad ; ' 
given to her when But speakmg of soup- 

tureens — let 's go and have some pie ; " and rising 
to his feet, he gave one hand to Davy and the 
other to the Goblin, and they all walked off in a 
row toward the little shell house. This, however, 
proved to be a very trouljlesome arrangement, for 


said the 

■ that was 

" that it would be a good plan to stand still and 
wait until the house came around to us?" 

" Here, drop that !" exclaimed Sindbad, excit- 
edly, " that 's my idea. 1 was just about pro- 
posing it myself." 

" So was I," said the Goljlin to .Sindbad. ■ 
leave my ideas alone, will you ?" 

" Your ideas ! " retorted Sindbad, scornfull 
did n't know you'd brought an\ with you." 




"I had to," replied the Gobhn. with great con- 
tempt, ''otherwise there would n't have been any 
on the premises." 

"Oh! come, I say!" cried Sindbad, "that's 
my sneer, you know. Don't go to putting the 
point of it the wrong way." 

" Take it back, if it 's the only one you have," 
retorted the Gobhn, with another wink at Davy. 


"Thank you, I believe I will," replied Sindbad, 
meekly ; and as the little house came along just 
then, they all stepped in at the door as it went by. 
As they did so, to Davy's amazement Sindbad 
and the Goblin quietly vanished, and Davy, in- 
stead of being inside the house, found himself 
standing in a dusty road, quite alone. 

Chapter VIII. 
lay-overs for meddlers. 

As Daw stood in the road, in doubt which way 
to go, a Roc came around the corner of the house. 
She was a large bird, nearly six feet tall, and was 
comfortably dressed in a bonnet and a plaid shawl, 
and wore overshoes. About her neck was hung a 
covered basket and a door-key, and Davy at once 
concluded that she was Sindbad's housekeeper. 

" I did n't inean to keep you waiting," said the 
Roc, leading the way along the road ; " but I de- 
clare that, what with combing that lawn ever)' 
morning with a fine-tooth comb, and brushing 
those shells every evening with a fine tooth-brush, 
I don't get time for anything else, let alone feed- 
ing the animals." 

"What animals?" said Davy, beginning to be 

" Why, ///>, of course," said the Roc, rattling 
on in her harsh voice. "There 's an Emphasis 

and two Periodicals and a Spotted Disaster, all 

crawlin' and creepin' and screechin' " 

Here Davy, unable to control himself, burst into 
a fit of laughter, in which the Roc joined heartily, 
rolling her head from side to side and repeating 
" All crawlin' and creepin' and screechin' " over 
and over again, as if that were the cream of the 
joke. Suddenly she stopped laughing and said in 

a low voice, " You 
don't happen to 
have a beefsteak 
about you, do 
you ? ' 

Davy confessed 
that he had not, 
and the Roc con- 
tinued, " Then I 
inust go back. Just 
hold my basket, 
like a good child." 
Here there was a 
scuffling sound in 
the basket and the 
Roc rapped on the 
coverwith her hard 
■■ — ■ — — ' . .. " ■ ' beak and cried, 

■ "' ' "Hush !" 

"What 'sin it?" 
said Davy, cautiously taking the basket. 

"Lay-overs for meddlers." said the Roc. and 
hurrving back along the road, was soon out of 

" 1 wonder what they 're like," said Davy to 
himself, getting down upon his hands and knees 
and listening curiously with his ear against the 
cover of the basket. The scuffling sound con- 
tinued, mingled with little sneezes and squeaking 
sobs as if some very small kittens had bad colds 
and were crying about it. 

" I think I '11 take a peep," said Davy, looking 
cautiously about him. There was no one in sight, 
and he carefully raised the cover a little way and 
tried to look in. The scuffling sound and the sobs 
ceased, and the next instant the cover flew off the 
basket and out poured a swarm of httle brown 
creatures like snuff-boxes with legs. As they 
scampered off in all directions, Davy made a fran- 
tic grab at one of them, when it instantly turned 
over on its back and blew a puff of smoke into his 
face, and he rolled over in the road almost stifled. 
When he was able to sit up again and look about 
him, the empty basket was lying on its side near 
him, and not a lay-over was to be seen. At that 
moment, the Roc came in sight, hurrying along 
the road with her shawl and her bonnet-strings 
flutteringbehind her ; and Davy, clapping the cover 
on the basket, took to his heels and ran for dear life. 

C To be cojttinited. ) 




Bv John Vaxce Cheney. 

The boy that likes spring or summer or fall 

Better than old King Winter 

Is a sort of a bass-wood splinter — 

Soft stuff; in fact, he 's no boy at all. 

Away from the stove, and look out there ! 

Did ever you see a picture so fair ? 

King Winter, from mountain to plain 

Not a beggar in all his train. 

The poky old pump, 

The ugliest stump ; 

One is in ermine from chips to chin, 

The other — no lamb can begin 

To look so uarm and soft and full, 

Though up to its eyes in wrinkles of wool. 

See old Dame Post with her night-cap on, 

Madam Bush in her shawl with the white nap on ! 

Crabbed old Bachelor Hedge — 

Where, now, is his prickly edge ? 

And scraggy old Gran'sir Tree, 

Shabby as shabby could be, 

How he spreads himself in his uniform, 

Lording it over the cold and the storm ! 

Summer? Oh, yes, I know she will dress 
Her dainty dear-dears in loveliness ; 
But Winter — The great and small, 
Angelic and ugly, all 

He tailors so fine, you would think each one 
The grandest personage under the sun. 

Who is afraid he '11 be bit to death 
By a monster that bites with nothing but breath ? 
There 's more real manhood, thirty to three, 
In the little chicks of a chickadee : 
Never were merrier creatures than they 
When summer is hundreds of miles away. 
Your stay-in-doors, bass-wood splinter 
Knows not the first thing about winter. 
A fig for your summer boys. 
They 're no whit better than toys. 
Give me the chap that will off to town 
When the wind is driving the chimney down, 
When the bare trees bend and roar 
Like breakers on the shore. 
Into the snow-drifts, plunged to his knees,— 
Yes, in clear up to his ears, if you please. 
Ruddy and ready, plucky and strong. 
Pulling his little duck legs along: 
The road is full, but he 's bound to go through it, 
He has business on hand, and is round to do it. 
As yonder you see him, breaking paths for the 

So he 'II be on the lead to the end of his days : 
One of Winter's own boys, a hero is he, 
No bass-wood there, but good hard hickory ! 


By C. Alex.\nder Nelson. 

Buckle the steel 

Firm to the heel. 
For a merr)' bout and a mazy reel ; 

The glassy ice 

We '11 mark in a trice 
With many a quaint and strange device. 

Our fire burns bright. 

And its ruddy light 
Glows far through the starry, wintry night ; 

We '11 whirl and wheel 

On ringing steel. 
While our pulses quicken and voices peal. 

Yv'ith shout and song. 

A joyous throng. 
We '11 wake the echoes loud and long, 

Till the moon's pale beam 

O'er the hill-top gleam, 
.And warn us home to rest and dream. 

CJi07i(s. — For naught care we, 

Froin cares set free. 
Though chill blow the wind o'er the icy lea ; 

And in sleep we shout. 

As we toss about. 
That merr\ . merrv skaters are we! 





By Clara Erskine Clement. 


The Spanish school of painting dates about two 
hundred and fifty years later than the Italian, and 
one hundred years later than the Flemish school. 
Thus the Spanish school had its birth just when 
the Italian school was in its best strength and 
beauty, and the earliest Spanish painters profited 
by the study of what had already been done in 
Italy. As soon as an interest in painting had 
been awakened in Spain, the Spanish monarchs 
invited Italian painters to their courts ; they also 
purchased splendid pictures from artists who never 
went to Spain, and many of these works could be 
seen and studied by Spanish painters, who thus 
had some of the finest masterpieces of the world 
always before their eyes. 

Then, too, many Spanish students went to Italy 
to study, and this constant coming of Italians and 
going of Spaniards — most of whom returned to 

practice in Spain the art which they had learned 
far away beyond the Pyrenees and Alps — re- 
sulted in the foundation and establishment of the 
Spanish School of Painting. The chief centers 
of this school were Toledo, Seville, Valencia, and 
Madrid; and after Philip II. made Madrid the 
capital of Spain, its school of art increased in 
importance, until, in the time of Philip IV., this 
city was the metropolis of Spanish art. 

Though it is not strictly a part of my subject, 1 
shall tell you something of the magnificent riches 
of the Gallery of Madrid, which is conceded to be 
the finest collection of pictures in the world. Of 
foreign pictures it has forty-three by Titian, ten 
by Raphael, twenty-five by Paul Veronese, thirty- 
four by Tintoretto, sixty-four by Rubens, a fine 
collection by V andyck, while of Teniers this gal- 
lery has sixty finished works. Of the Spanish paint- 
ers, the gallery contains sixty-five by Velasquez, 
forty-six by MuriUo, and fifty-eight by Ribera. 

* Copyright, 1881, by Clara Erskine Clement. All rights reserved. 


STORIES O F A K T A N i ) A R 'l' I S T S . 


When one thinks of all this, it is natural to won- 
der how such treasures were ever brought together 
in Spain. The explanation of it is that the great 
Emperor Charles V. was at the height of his 
power and wealth just when the painting of Italy 
had reached its best estate. He ruled over Spain, 
the Netherlands, Milan, Naples, and Sicily. These 
countries embraced a large part of the territory of 
Europe in which art had attained perfection, and 
the vast riches at his command gave him the 
power to be the patron of the art of all nations. 

Charles V. was the personal friend of Titian 
and was the possessor of some of the most glori- 
ous works of that master ; he also purchased many 
masterpieces of the best Flemish and Italian 
painters, and thus made the beginning of the 
splendid museum. To this, Philip II. and other 
sovereigns added still other foreign works, while 
many of the best pictures of the Spanish painters 
were also placed there. The museum now con- 
tains many works which were formerl)* distributed 
in palaces and convents, and were thus almost lost 
to the world, since they were only seen by the few 
who were admitted to these places. Ferdinand 
VII., however, removed many of those which had 
adorned the palaces and placed them in the mu- 
seum, and when the riches of the monasteries 
were also added to it, this gallery became almost 
too magnificent for description. 

The religious element, as was natural in the 
days when the Church was all-powerful, was most 
prominent in Spanish art in the days of Charles V. 
and his successors. With the exception of por- 
traits, there were few pictures of importance that 
had not a religious meaning. 

Spanish painting reached its meridian in the 
seventeenth century. The most interesting Span- 
ish artists, about twelve in number, all died be- 
tween the years 1586 and 1682, and after that time 
no great painter arose to replace those who had 
gone, or to add new luster to the Spanish school. 


was one of the earliest of this twelve. He was 
born in Badajoz* in 1509 and died in 1586. He 
was the first Spanish painter who acc[uired a repu- 
tation outside of his own country. His subjects 
were all religious and he was called El Divino," 
or "the divine," on account of the devotional ele- 
ment in his works. He painted on panels and 
finished his pictures with great care. His works 
are not numerous in Spain, and but few of them are 
seen elsewhere. There are good specimens in the 
Louvre, in the Dresden Gallery, and at the Her- 

mitage, in St. Petersburg. He belonged to the 
Castilian school and studied at Toledo. 

When Morales was fifty-five years old, Philip II. 
invited him to court. When he appeared before 
the king, he wore so magnificent a costume that 
Philip was angry, and ordered a sum of money to 
be paid the artist and a dismissal to be sent him 
at the same time. This was a dreadful blow to 
Morales, and when he explained that he had spent 
nearly all that he had in order to appear before his 
sovereign in a dress which befitted the dignity of 
the king, he was pardoned, and commissioned to 
paint one picture. This, however, was not hung 
in the Escorial, f which so mortified Morales that 
he forsook his art and fell into great poverty. 

In 1 581, Philip visited Badajoz and saw Morales 
in a very different dress from that which he had 
worn at court. 

" Morales, you are very old," said the king. 

" Yes, sire, and very poor," replied the painter. 

Philip then commanded that two hundred ducats 
of the crown rents of Badajoz should be given each 
year to the painter to supply him with dinners. 
Hearing this, Morales exclaimed : 

" And for supper, sire?" 

This aptness so pleased the king that he added 
one hundred ducats to the pension and these 
sums gave Morales comfort for the rest of his days. 
The street in Badajoz in which he lived still bears 
his name. 


also called Lo Spagnoletto, was born at Xativa 
in 1588 and died in Naples in 1656. Though he 
lived many years in Italy, his name and rank are 
important among the painters of Spain. 1 told 
you something of him and his life in Naples, in 
the paper on Italian painters. Perhaps you will 
remember the kindnessof a cardinal to him when he 
was a boy in Rome, and his decision that he needed 
the spur of poverty to make him a good artist. 

He seems, however, to have thought differently 
about this in later years, for when a rich picture- 
dealer in Naples offered Ribera his daughter in 
marriage, the painter accepted her ; but he was an 
industrious artist, though he lived in princely style. 
Most of Ribera's subjects were painful, and he 
painted them so naturally that they are often 
revolting in their representation of horrible suffer- 
ing, though their great merits show him to have 
been a very gifted painter. It is pleasant to add that 
he sometimes painted pictures of a different sort. 
One of these is in the Madrid Gallery, and repre- 
sents the " Dream of Jacob." It has all the 
strength of his other works, and at the same time a 

* Pronounced Biui-a-hjs. 

t A famous Spanish palace, about twenty-four miles from Madrid, built by Philip II, 




sweetness of sentiment and a tenderness in its 
handling which prove that Ribera had a better 
side in his nature. He has represented Jacob 
stretched on an open plain, sleeping profoundly ; 
on one side a stream of cloudy, golden brightness 
extends from earth to heaven, and in this are 
angels ascending and descending. 

Many portraits and other pictures by Ribera are 
seen in the galleries of Europe. His " Descent 
from the Cross," which is considered his finest 
work, is in the church of San Martino, in Naples. 
Of the large number of his pictures in the Madrid 
Gallery, many are single heads of saints and 
apostles on small canvases. 


This master is generally called the greatest 
painter of Spain. His full name is Diego Rod- 
riguez de Silva y Velasquez. He was born in 
Seville in 1599, — the same year in which Vandyck 
was born in Antwerp, — and he died in Madrid in 
1660 ; thus his work belongs to the seventeenth 
century. His parents were of noble blood ; his 
father was of the Portuguese family of De Silva, 
and a lawyer in Seville ; his mother, Geronima 
Velasquez, — by whose name the artist is known, 
according to the custom of Andalusia, — was an 
accomplished woman, and devoted herself to the 
education of her son. Although he had a quick 
mind and could learn easily, he was so fond of 
drawing that he was unwilling to study other 
things, and when still very young he was placed in 
the school of Herrcra the Elder. This painter has 
been called " a clever brute," and \'elasquez soon 
tired of him ; but, meantime, he had acquired a 
free, bold style of drawing. His second master 
was Francesco Pacheco, who never became great 
as a painter, but was a refined and polished gen- 
tleman and a writer of some reputation. 

Velasquez soon discovered that no master could 
make him the artist that he desired to be. He de- 
termined to devote himself to the study of nature 
alone ; and working thus, with untiring industry, 
he became one of the great masters of the world. 
Until he was twenty-three years old, he devoted 
himself to representing the low and common life 
of the streets ; he painted what he saw just as he 
saw it, in form, color, and every particular. He is 
said to have kept a peasant lad as a model, and 
from him he painted a variety of heads in all sorts 
of positions and with every possible expression. 
To this early period belong several pictures of beg- 
gar boys which are w'ell known, and the important 
" Water-carrier of Seville," which is now at Apsley 
House; also, the "Adoration of the Shepherds," 
which is in the National Gallery in London. 

In 1622 Velasquez went to Madrid for the first 
time, and there saw the pictures of the Royal 
Galleries, of which he had heard much from the 
visitors to the studio of Pacheco. He carried with 
him letters which enabled him to see the works of 
art in the capital, but he was not brought to the 
notice of the king. While in Madrid he painted 
the portrait of the poet Gongora, and secured the 
friendship of Fonseca, who was a patron of art, 
and who later interested the minister Olivarez in 
the young painter of Seville. As the result of all 
this, Velasquez was soon summoned to the court, 
and a purse of fifty ducats was sent him to cover 
the expenses of his journey. 

Meantime, he had married the daughter of 
Pacheco, and when he went to Madrid he was 
accompanied by his wife, his father-in-law. and 
his mulatto slave, Juan Pareja, who later became 
an excellent painter. The first picture painted by 
Velasquez, after his second arrival at Aladrid, was 
a portrait of Fonseca ; this was shown to the king, 
who was so well pleased with it that he immedi- 
ately appointed the artist his court-painter, which 
position Velasquez held as long as he lived. 

The service of Philip IV. perfected Velasquez as 
a portrait-painter. The king was never weary of 
sitting for his own portrait ; and those of his queen 
and his children, in groups and in single pictures, 
were repeated again and again. Velasquez was 
always prosperous ; he grew in favor with the 
king, who afforded him every possible opportunity 
for improvement and enjoyment. Philip made 
himself his familiar friend, and was accustomed to 
visit his studio with as little ceremony as one gen- 
tleman uses with another who is his equal in rank. 
He would permit no other artist to paint his por- 
trait, and lost no opportunity to show his regard 
for his favorite painter. He was in the habit also 
of asking advice from Velasquez concerning the 
improvement of his capital and the art-collections 
which he desired to make. \'elasquez was also 
the favorite of the minister Olivarez, and this 
proves that he must have attended strictly to such 
matters as concerned himself and his art ; for had 
he ventured to advise the king in other directions, 
the proud minister would not have been his friend. 

At length, Velasquez was allowed to visit Italy. 
He remained there two years and was treated with 
the respect which his character and his talents 
merited. After his return to Madrid, he became 
more and more necessary to King Philip ; he at- 
tended the king upon his journeys, and was in the 
most confidential relations with him. After a time 
the king sent him again to Italy to purchase works 
of art, and gave him full power to buy whatever 
his judgment approved. As the special agent 
of the Spanish monarch, and with his fame as a 


STORIES 01' A R T A X D A R T I S '1' S . 

painter, Velasquez became a very important per- 
son, and was everywhere received with the highest 
honors. Pope Innocent X. sat to him for his 
portrait, as did also several cardinals and Roman 
princes. He was elected a member of the Acad- 
emy of St. Luke, at Rome, and formed close 
friendships with many sculptors and painters. 

Upon his return to Madrid, Velasquez was ap- 
pointed Aposentador Mayor* of the king's house- 
hold, with a salary of three thousand ducats a year. 
He carried at his belt a key which opened every 
lock in the palace. The duties of this office re- 
quired him to superintend all the ceremonies and 
festivals of the royal household ; this was a hea\'y 
tax upon his time and strength, but he also ful- 
filled his part as superintendent of the Gallery of 
the Escorial, arranged his Italian bronzes and 
marbles in the halls of the Alcazar, attended to 
bronze castings from models which he had brought 
from Italy, and painted his last great picture, 
known in Spain as "Las Meninas," or ''The 
Maids of Honor." This picture represents the 
royal family, with the maids of honor, the dwarfs, 
a sleeping hound, and the artist himself standing 
before the easel with pencils in hand. Doubtless 
the great master was very weary of repeating 
again and again the faces of the king and his 
children, and the idea came to him to make this 
picture something more tlian a portrait. It gives 
the whole scene precisely as it was, and is thus 
historical. It represents one moment in the life 
of all the notable people whom it reproduces 
exactly as it was passed by them ; the faces of the 
king and queen are seen in a mirror, for the 
special purpose of the work was thought to be the 
portrait of the little Infanta, or princess, who is 
stiffly placed in the center, with her little maids 
around her. Another portrait by Velasquez of 
this same little Infanta was copied in an engraving 
which formed the frontispiece of the last number 
of St. Nicholas. And on page 176 of this num- 
ber you will find a copy of the famous painting 
called " The Maids of Honor." 

Mr. John Hay, in his book called Castiliau 
Days, says ; " The longer you look upon this mar- 
velous painting, the less possible does it seem that 
it is merely the placing of color on canvas which 
causes this perfect illusion. It does not seem pos- 
sible that you are looking at a plane surface. 
* * * * There is space and light in this picture 
as in any room. If art consists in making a fleet- 
ing moment immortal, * * * * then it will 
be hard to find a greater painting than this." 

When Philip saw this picture, he said it wanted 
but one thing ; and he took a brush and in the most 
unskillful manner painted a red cross upon the 
breast of the portrait of Velasquez. Thus was the 

* Grand Marshal of t 

artist made a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and 
the manner in which the knighthood was conferred 
was the highest compliment ever paid to a painter. 

This famous picture is not beautiful. The color 
is dull, its whole tone being an olive-green gray ; 
the persons represented are not beautiful, Velas- 
quez is the only graceful figure there ; but in spite 
of this it has a great power, it is a picture that 
one can not turn away from hastily. 

The last important act in the life of Velasquez 
was his superintendence of the ceremonies at the 
Isle of Pheasants, when the courts of France and 
Spain met there, and when Louis XIV., accom- 
panied by the queen-mother of France, received 
the Infanta Maria Teresa forhis wife. The splendid 
ceremonies of the occasion furnished many scenes 
worthy to be immortalized by the poet or artist, 
but its preparation was too much for the strength 
of Velasquez, who was already overworked. He 
reached Madrid on the 26th of June, and died on 
the 6th of August. His wife lived but eight days 
longer, and was buried in the same grave with him. 
The ceremonies of his funeral were magnificent, 
and he was buried in the church of St. Juan, -w hich 
was destroyed by the French in 181 1. 

Velasquez was of a rare and admirable character ; 
he combined sweetness of temper, freedom from 
jealousy, and power to conciliate with strength of 
intellect and will and steadfastness of purpose. 
He was one of nature's noblemen in the full, broad 
sense of that word. Stirling, in his Artists of 
Spain, says of him ; " He was the friend of Ru- 
bens, the most generous, and of Ribera, the most 
jealous of the brethren of his craft; and he was the 
friend and protector of Cano and Murillo, who, 
next to himself, were the greatest painters of Spain. 
The favorite of Philip IV., in fact, his minister for 
artistic affairs, he filled this position with a purity 
and a disinterestedness very uncommon in the 
counselors of state ; and to befriend an artist less 
fortunate than himself was one of the last acts of 
his amiable and glorious life." When A'elasquez 
is simply called the greatest painter of Spain full 
justice is not done him, for he was also the noblest 
and most commanding man among them all. 

Naturally, from his position at court, a large 
proportion of his works were portraits of exalted 
personages. These are in groups, single figures, 
and equestrian portraits, and frequently the groups 
were so arranged as to perpetuate the memory of 
historical events. He also painted landscapes 
which have been favorably compared with those of 
Claude Lorraine : unlike Rubens, who had a cer- 
tain manner in all his works, \'elasquez changed 
his handling to suit his subject instead of suiting 
his subject to his handling. The horses that he 
painted were as well done as the men who rode 

he Royal Apartmencs. 




them ; he may be compared with Teniers as a 
painterof scenes from common life ; '■ hisfruit-pieces 
equal those of Sanchez Cotan or Van Kessel ; and 
his dogs might do battle with the dogs of Snyders." 

In the Gallery of Madrid there is no separate 
portrait of Velascjuez, though there are such at 
Florence, Munich, and Paris; that in the " Maids 
of Honor," painted in 1656, is the latest and most 
authentic one ; another, painted ten years earlier, 
is in the historical picture of the " Surrender of 
Breda," which was his greatest work of this kind. 
In the center of the picture the governor of the 
conquered city delivers the keys to the great Spin- 
ola, while the Spanish and Flemish soldiers are on 
either side. The landscape of this painting, which 
is a broad scene in the Netherlands, would make 
an admirable picture without any figures in it. 

The pictures of Velasquez number two hundred 

and nineteen ; they are seen in all the important 
galleries of Europe, though the finest collection is 
at Madrid. His works are sold very rarely, and 
when they do change owners, very large prices are 
paid for them. 

I can not conclude this account of this master 
in more fitting words than these from Mrs. 
Jameson : 

"There is something in the histoiy of this painter which fills the 
iinagin.ition like a gorgeous romance. In the very sound of his 
name — Don Diego Rodriguez Velasquez de Silva — there is some- 
thing mouth-filling and magnificent. When we read of his fine 
chivalrous qualities, his noble birth, his riches, his palaces, his orders 
of knighthood, and what is most rare, the warm, real, steady friend- 
ship of a King, and added to this a long life, crowned with genius, 
felicity, and fame, it seems almost beyond the lot of humanity. I 
know of nothing to be compared with it but the history of Rubens, 
his friend and contemporary, whom he resembled in character and 
fortune, and in that union of rare talents with practical good sense 
which insures success in life." 

By Louisa M. Alcott. 

At Lawton, Sid had parted from his friend and 
gone on alone, having laid in a store of ginger- 
bread from a baker's cart, and paused to eat, 
drink, and rest by a way-side brook. A few miles 
farther, he passed a party of girls playing lawn- 
tennis ; and as he slowly rolled along, watching 
them from his lofty perch, one of them suddenly 
exclaimed : 

" Why, it 's our neighbor, Sidney West ! How 
did he come here ? " and waving her racquet, 
Alice ran across the lawn to find out. 

Very willing to stop and display his new uni- 
form, which was extremely becoming, Sid dis- 
mounted, doffed his helmet, and smiled upon the 
damsels, leaning over the hedge like a knight of 

"Come in and play a game, and have some 
luncheon. You will have plenty of time, and some 
of us are going to the rink by and by. Do come, 
— we want a young gentleman to help us, for Mau- 
rice is too lazy, and Jack has hurt his hand with 
that stupid base-ball," said Alice, beckoning per- 
suasively, while the other girls nodded and smiled 

Thus allured, the youthful Ulysses hearkened 
to the voice of the little Circe in a round hat, and 
entered the enchanted grove, where he soon for- 
got the passage of time. 

While Sid was thus happily engaged, time slip- 
ped away, and Hugh passed his brother in the race, 

Vol. XII.— 12. 

quite unconscious that Sid was reposing in the 
tent that looked so inviting as the dusty, tired 
boy plodded by, counting every mile-stone with 
increasing satisfaction. 

" If I reach Uncle Tim's by one o'clock, I shall 
have done very well," thought Hugh, with a sigh. 
" Four miles an hour is a fair pace, and I 've made 
only one stop. I '11 telegraph to Auntie as soon 
as I arrive ; but she wont worry, — she 's used to 
having us turn up all right «'hen we get ready." 
The boys had no mother, and Aunt Ruth was an 
easy old lady who, knowing that she could trust 
the boys, let them do very much as they likeil. 
to their great contentment. 

As he neared his journey's end, our traveler's 
spirits rose, and the blisters on his heels were for- 
gotten in the dramatic scene his fancy paintcti, 
when Sid should discover hiin at Uncle Tim's or 
calmly seated at the rink. Whistling gayly, he 
was passing along a wooded bit of road, when 
the sound of voices made him look back, to see a 
carriage-load of girls approaching, escorted by a 
bicycle rider whose long blue legs looked strangely 

Wishing to keep his secret until the last moment, 
and conscious that he was not in company trim, 
Hugh dived into the wood, keeping out of sight 
while the gay party went by, and returning to the 
road as soon as they were hidden by a bend. 

" If Sid had n't been so mean, I should have 




been with him, and have had some of the fun. I 
don't feel hke forgiving him in a hurry for making 
me foot it like a tramp, while he is having so good 
a time." 

If Hugh could have known what was to hap- 
pen very soon after he had muttered these words 
to himself, wiping his hot face and taking the 
last sip of the coffee to quench his thirst, he would 
have been sorry that he had uttered them, and 
would have forgiven his brother everything. 

this disaster. They expected their gallant escort 
would spring up and laugh over this accident ; but 
when he remained flat upon his back, where he 
had alighted after his involuntary somersault, 
with the bicycle spread over him like a pall, they 
were alarmed, and Hew to the rescue. 

A cut on his forehead was bleeding, and the 
blow had evidently stunned him for a moment. 
Luckily, a house was near; and a man, seeing the 
accident, hastened to offer more efficient help than 

"the farmer propped the fallen rider against a tree." 

While he was slowly toiling up the last long hill, 
Sid was coasting down on the other side, eager to 
display his courage and skill before the girls, — for 
he was of an age when boys begin to wish to please 
and astonish the gentler creatures whom they 
have hitherto treated with indifference or con- 
tempt. It was a foolish thing to do, for the road 
was rough, with steep banks on either side, and a 
sharp turn at the end. But Sid rolled gayly along, 
with an occasional bump, till a snake ran across 
the road, causing the horse to shy, the girls to 
scream, the bicyclist to turn to see what was the mat- 
ter, and in doing so to lose his balance just when a 
large stone needed to be avoided. Over went Sid, 
down rattled the wheel, up rose a cloud of dust, 
and sudden silence fell upon the girls at sight of 

any the girls had wit enough to give, as all four 
of them only flapped their handkerchiefs wildly at 
Sid, and exclaimed excitedly : 

"What shall we do? Is he dead? Run for 
water ! Call somebody, quick ! " 

"Don't be scar't, gals ; it takes a sight o' thump- 
in' to break a boy's head. He 's not hurt much, — 
only dazed for a minute. I '11 h'ist up this pesky 
mash'me and set him on his legs, if he has n't 
damaged 'em." 

With these cheering words, the farmer cleared 
away the ruins and propped the fallen rider 
against a tree ; which treatment had so good an 
effect that Sid was himself in a moment, and 
much disgusted to find what a scrape he was in. 

"This is nothing, a mere bump; quite right, 




thanks. Let us go on at once ; so sorry to have 
alarmed you, young ladies — " He began his 
polite speech bravely, but ended with a feeble smile 
and a clutch at the tree, as he suddenly grew sick 
and dizzy again. 

" You come along with me," said the farmer. 
" I '11 tinker you up and your whirligig, too. Nu 
use sayin' go ahead, for the thing is damaged, and 
you want to keep quiet for a spell. Drive along, 
gals ; 1 '11 see to him ; and my wife can nurse 
him Ijetter 'n a dozen fluttcrin' } (iung things, scart 
half to death." 

Thus taking matters into his own hands, the 
farmer had boy and bicycle under his roof in five 
minutes; and with vain offers of help, many regrets, 
and promises to let his Uncle Tim know where he 
was in case he did not arrive, the girls reluctantly 
drove away, leaving no sign of the catastrophe 
except the trampled road and a dead snake. 

Hardly was peace restored, when Hugh came 
down the hill, little dreaming what had happened, 
and for the second time passed his brother, who 
just then was lying on a sofa in the farm-house, 
while a kind old lady adorned his brow with a 
large black plaster, and suggested brown paper 
steeped in vinegar for the various bruises on his 
arms and legs. 

" Some one killed the snake and made a great 
fuss about it, I should say," thought Hugh, ob- 
serving the signs of disorder in the dust ; but re- 
sisting a boy's interest in such affairs, he stoutly 
tramped on, sniffing the whiffs of sea air that now 
and then saluted him, telling him that he was 
Hearing his much-desired goal. 

Presently the spires of the city came in sight, to 
his great satisfaction, and only the long bridge 
and a street or two lay between him and Uncle 
Tim's easy-chair, into which he soon hoped to cast 

Half-way across the bridge a farm-wagon passed, 
with a bicycle laid carefully on the barrels of vege- 
tables going to market. Hugh gazed affectionately 
at it, longing to borrow it for one brief, delicious 
spin to the end of the bridge. Had he known that, 
it was Sid's broken wheel, going to be repaired 
without loss of time, thanks to the good farmer's 
trip to town, he would have paused to have a 
hearty laugh, in spite of his vow not to stop till his 
journey was over. 

Just as he turned into the side street where 
Uncle Tim lived, a horse-car went by, in one 
corner of which sat a pale youth, with a battered 
hat drawn low over his eyes, who handed out his 
fare with the left hand, and frowned when the 
car jolted, as if the jar hurt him. Had he looked 
out of the window, he would have seen a very 
dusty boy, with a pouch over his shoulder, walk- 

ing smartly down the street where his uncle 
lived. But Sid carefully turned his head aside, 
fearing to be recognized ; for he was on his way to 
a certain club to which Bemis belonged, preferring 
his sympathy and hospitality to the humiliation of 
having his mishap told at home by Uncle Tim, 
who would be sure to take Hugh's part, and exult 
over the downfall of the proud. Well for him that 
he avoided that comfortable mansion ; for on the 
door-steps stood Hugh, beaming with satisfaction 
as the clock struck one, proclaiming to him that he 
had done his twenty miles in a little less than five 

" Not bad for a ' little chap,' even though he is 
'a donkey,'" chuckled the boy, dusting his shoes, 
wiping his red face, and touching himself up as 
well as he could, in order to present as fresh and 
unwearied an aspect as possible when he burst 
upon his astonished brother's sight. 

In lie marched when the door opened, to find 
his uncle and two rosy cousins just sitting down to 
dinner. Always glad to see the lads, they gave 
him a cordial welcome, and asked for his brother. 

"Has n't he come yet?" cried Hugh, surprised, 
yet inwardly glad to be the hrst on the field. 

Nothing had been seen of him, and Hugh at 
once told his tale, to the great delight of his hearty 
uncle, and the admiring wonder of Meg and May, 
the rosy young cousins. They all enjoyed the ex- 
ploit immensely, and at once insisted that the 
pedestrian should be refreshed by a bath, an 
abundant meal, and a good rest in the big chair, 
where he repeated his story, by particular request. 

" You deserve a bicycle, and you shall have one, 
as sure as my name is Timothy West ! " e.\- 
claimed his uncle. " I like pluck and perseverance, 
and you have both; so come on, my boy, and 
name the wheel you like best. Sid needs a little 
' taking down,' as you lads say, and this will serve 
the purpose, 1 fancy. I am a younger brother my- 
self, and I know what their trials are." 

As his uncle made these agreeable remarks, 
Hugh looked as if all his trials were over ; for his 
face shone with soap and satisfaction, his hunger 
was relieved by a fine dinner, his tired feet 
luxuriated in a pair of vast slippers, and the blissful 
certainty of owning a tirst-class bicycle filled his 
cup to overflowing. Words could hardly express 
his gratitude, and nothing but the hope of meeting 
Sid with this glorious news would have torn him 
from the reposeful paradise where he longed to 
linger. Pluck and perseverance, with cold cream 
on the blistered heels, got him into his shoes again, 
and he rode away in a horse-car, as in a triumphal 
chariot, to find his brother. 

" I '11 not brag, but I do feel immensely pleased 
with this day's work. 1 wonder how Sid got on. I 




suppose he made the distance in two or three 
hours, and that he is parading with those swell 
club fellows at the rink. 1 '11 slip in and let him 
find me, as if I were n't a bit proud of what I 've 
done, and did n't care for anybody's praise." 

With this plan in his head, Hugh enjoyed the 
afternoon very much, keeping a sharp lookout for 
Sid, even while astonishing feats were being per- 
formed before his admiring eyes. But nowhere 
did he see his brother, for he was searching for a 
blue uniform and a helmet with a certain badge on 
it; while Sid, in a borrowed hat and coat, sat in a 
corner looking on, whenever a splitting headache 
and the pain in his bones allowed him to see and 
enjoy the exploits in which he had hoped to join. 

Not until it was over and they went out, did 
the brothers meet ; and then the e.xpression on Sid's 
face was so comical that Hugh laughed till the 
crowd about them stared, and wondered what the 
joke could be. 

" How in the world did I'c;/ get here ?" asked 
the elder boy, giving his hat a sudden pull to hide 
the plaster. 

" 1 walked, as you advised me to." 

Words can not express the pleasure that answer 
gave Hugh, nor the exultation he vainly tried to 
repress, as his eyes twinkled, and a grin of real 
boyish fun shone upon his sunburnt countenance. 

" You expect me to believe that, do you ? " asked 
his brother. 

" Just as you please. 1 started with your lunch- 
bag to catch you, and when I missed you, I 
thought I might as well keep on. I got in about 
one, took dinner at Uncle's, and have been enjoying 
these high jinks ever since," replied Hugh, calmly. 

" Very well, for a beginning. Keep it up and 
you '11 be a Rowell by and by. What do you sup- 
pose father will say to you, small boy ? " asked Sid. 

" Not much. Uncle will make that all right. 
He thought it was a plucky thing to do, and so 
did the girls. But when did you get in ? " asked 
Hugh, rather nettled at Sid's want of enthusiasm, 
though it was evident that he was much impressed 
by the " small boy's " prank. 

" I took it easy after Bemis left me," answered 
Sid. " 1 had a game of tennis at the Blanchards' 
as 1 came along, took dinner at the club, and 
strolled up here with the fellows. 1 've a head- 
ache, and 1 don't feel up to much." 

As Sid spoke and Hugh's keen eye took in the 
various signs of distress which betrayed a hint of 
the truth, the grin changed to a hearty " Ha ! 
ha ! " as he smote his knees, exclaiming gleefully, 
" You 've come to grief! I know it, I see it. Own 
up, and don't shirk, for 1 '11 find it out somehow, 
as sure as you live." 

"Don't make such a row in the street. Jump 

aboard this car and 1 '11 tell you, for you '11 give 
me no peace till I do," answered Sid, well knowing 
that Alice would never keep the secret. 

To say that it was a treat to Hugh faintly ex- 
presses the interest he took in the story which was 
extracted bit by bit from the reluctant suft'erer; 
but after a very pardonable crow over the mishaps 
of his oppressor, he yielded to the sympathy he felt 
for his brother, and was very good to him. 

This touched Sid, and filled him with remorse 
for past unkindness ; for one sees his faults very 
plainly, and is not ashamed to own it, when walk- 
ing through the Valley of Humiliation. 

" Look here, I '11 tell you what 1 '11 do," he 
said, as they left the car, and Hugh offered an 
arm, with a friendly air, pleasant to see. " I '11 
give you the old wheel, and let Joe get another 
where he can. It 's small for him, and I doubt if 
he wants it, anyhow. I do think you were a 
plucky fellow to tramp your twenty miles in good 
time, and not bear malice either, so let 's say 
done, and forgive and forget." 

" Much obliged, but Uncle is going to give me a 
new one ; so Joe need n't feel any disappointment. 
1 know how hard that is, and am glad to keep him 
from it, forhe 's poor and can't afford a new machine. " 

That answer was Hugh's only revenge for his 
own trials, and Sid felt it, though he merely said, 
with a hearty slap on the shoulder : 

" Glad to hear it. Uncle is a trump, and so are 
you. We '11 take the last train home, and 1 '11 pay 
your fare." 

"Thank you. Poor old man, you did get a 
bump, did n't you ? " exclaimed Hugh, as they 
took off their hats in the hall, and the patch ap- 
peared in all its gloomy length and breadth. 

" My head will be all right in a day or two, but I 
stove in my helmet, and ground holes in both 
knees of my new shorts. I had to borrow a fit-out 
of Bemis, and leave my rags behind. We need n't 
mention any more than is necessary to the girls; 
1 hate to be fussed over," answered Sid, trying to 
speak carelessly. 

. Hugh had to stop and have another laugh, re- 
membering the taunts his own mishaps had called 
forth ; but he did not retaliate, and Sid never for- 
got it. Their stay was a short one, and Hugh was 
the hero of the hour, quite eclipsing his brother, 
who usually took the first place, but now very 
meekly played second fiddle, conscious that he 
was not an imposing figure, in a coat much too big 
for him, with a patch on his forehead, a purple 
bruise on one cheek, and a general air of dilapida- 
tion very trying to the usually spruce youth. 

When they left. Uncle Tim patted Hugh on the 
head. — a liberty the boy would have resented if 
the delightful old gentleman had not followed it 



up by saying, with a reckless generosity worthy of 
record : " Choose your bicycle, my boy, and send 
the bill to me." Then turning to Sid he added, 
in a tone that made the pale face redden sud- 
denly, "And do you remember that the tortoise 
beat the hare in the old fable." 

"That is the last of the stories, for our holiday 
is over, and to-morrow we must go home. We 
have had a splendid time, and thank you and 
Auntie so much, dear Grandma," said Min, ex- 
pressing the feeling of all the children, as they 
stood about the fire when the bicycle tale ended. 

" I 'm so glad, my darlings, and please God 
we '11 all meet here again next year, well and 
happy and ready for more fun," answered the old 
lady, with arms and lap full of loving little people. 

"Auntie deserves a vote of thanks, and 1 rise 
to propose it," said Geoff; and it was passed with 
great applause. 

" Many thanks. If the odds and ends in my 
port-folio have given you pleasure or done you 
any good, my fondest wishes are gratified," an- 

swered Aunt Elinor, laughing, yet well pleased. 
" I tucked a moral in, as we hide pills in jelly, and 
I hope you didn't find them hard to swallow." 

"Oh, no! — not at all. 1 intend to look after 
little things faithfully, and tell the girls hnw to 
make their jerseys fit," said Min. 

" 1 'm going to fill my jewel-box as Daisy did, 
and learn to cook," added Lotty. 

" Eli is the boy for me, and I wont forget to be 
kind to this small chap," said Walt, stroking his 
younger brother's head with unusual kindness. 

" Well, I 'm rather mi.xed in my heroes, but 1 '11 
take the best of Corny, Onawandah, and the ban- 
ner fellow for my share," cried Geoff. 

The little people proclaimed their favorites ; 
but as all spoke together, only a comical mixture 
of doves, bears, babies, table-cloths, and blue 
hose reached the ear. Then came the good-night 
kisses, the patter of departing feet, and silence 
fell upon the room. The little wheel was still, 
the chairs stood empty, the old portraits looked 
sadly down, the fire died out, and the Spinning- 
wheel Stories were done. 

By Alice Wellington Rollins. 

" We 're going to keep a horse this summer," 
said Arthur Shaw, proudly, at recess one day. 

" Oh, that is n't anything ! " repHed Willie Leslie. 
" We 're going to keep a prairie ! " 


praine : 

" Oh, it 's a big flat place, where they keep about 
forty horses, and fifty cows, and a hundred pigs, 
and five hundred dogs, and a thousand sheep, and 
a million hens, and " 

Then Willie paused his knowledge of arithmetic 

did not extend beyond millions, and he had no in- 
tention of lowering his estimates. 

It was quite true; Uncle Philip had bought a 
ranch in Kansas several years before, and had 
represented life there as so delightful that Mr. 
Leslie was going to take the entire family thither 
for the summer, and Willie, indeed, was to go 
back with his LTncle Philip in February. 

"Do \ ou have birthdays on a ranch, Uncle?" 
inquired \\'illic, when told that he might go. 


"o UNCLE Philip!" 


"Yes, we have birthdays," said Uncle PhiHp ; 
" but I 'm not so sure about our having birthday 

"Then I shall have my birthday before I go," 
said Master Willie, emphatically. 

" And is your front door cut in halves, like those 
at Newport, so that Lilian can put on a long dress 
and lean out over the lower half and look down the 
road — si>?" said Fred, illustrating by leaning over 
the back of a large arm-chair in the attitude of one 
of Raphael's angels. 

" It 's all right about the door, but 1 'm afraid she 
could n't look down the road ; it 's too far away." 

" How far is it to the gate ? " 

" There is n't any gate." 

" Then how do you get out from the fence ? " 

" There is n't any fence." 

" Then what keeps the animals in ? " 

"Oh, the herders. We have no trees to make 
lumber of, and wood is so high that it costs more 
to build a fence than to hire a man to look after 
the herd." 

" But you have to feed a man," suggested Fred, 
mindful of what he had been told about the first 
cost of a horse being a small part of the expense. 

"Certainly; but you have to keep a fence in 
repair. And where eggs are ten cents a dozen, but- 
ter fifteen cents a pound, and chickens a dollar and 
a half a dozen, it is cheaper to feed a man on poul- 
try and custard than to mend a fence. Besides, Fred, 
how long do you suppose it would take us to put a 
fence around the ranch, if we had the lumber? " 

" Would it take a month ? " 

" A month ? Well, let me see! it is a little haid 
to calculate, but as a rough guess, I should think, 
with a force of fifty men, we might get around it in 
about five years. That is, if we did n't stop to 
paint it." 

" O Uncle Philip ! " 

" Sometimes we put a wire fence around a small 
pasture of a hundred acres or so ; but you will see 
that it is much simpler on the whole to keep a man 
walking around and around the flocks of sheep than 
to shut them up inside a fence ; especially as we 
have n't any trees of which to make a fence." 

" Then," said Lilian, thoughtfully, " that must 
be what they mean in the Bible by ' mc/i as fnrs 
ma/kiiii^.' But can 1 have a flower-garden, L^nclc 
Philip ? " 

" Certainly, if you can make fifty or a hundred 
acres do for one ; I don't think I could spare more 
than that very well for ornamental purposes. But 
you can have plenty of flowers if you don't have a 
flower-garden, you know. You can't walk any- 
where on the prairie without stepping on a flower." 

"O Uncle Philip !" 

" And you can pick up vases for them, too, — 

great hollow stones that will hold water and make 
the prettiest vases in the world for a room with a 
Kansas breeze blowing through it that would shiver 
glass vases to atoms in a few minutes." 

' ' I know there are some very pretty flowers on 
the prairies," said Lilian, condescendingly. " But, 
all the same, I should like a few of the home ones. 
If I could take out a few sunflower seeds " 

Here Uncle Philip threw back his head and in- 
dulged in a very hearty laugh. 

" My dear young lady, when the sunflower 
season arrives I will harness up my carriage and 
pair and drive you through twenty acres of them in 
one field. It will be hard work to pull through, but 
the horses will trample down the stalks ahead of us, 
and when they spring up behind us again, after we 
have driven over them, no one will know where we 
are, for they will tower three or four feet above our 
heads as we sit in the carriage or on horseback ! " 

" O Uncle Philip !" 

"And now that I think of it, perhaps we 'd 
better have the sunflower bed fenced in ; for if 
baby Nora should stray in there, you would never 
find her again." 

" Uncle Philip," said Willie, fixing his eyes 
sternly on his uncle's face, as he had seen his 
mother do sometimes when anxious to elicit not 
only the truth, but the whole truth, "how big is 
the whole thing, anyway? " 

" Willie, I object to having my ranch alluded to 
disrespectfully as the fhing. The pasture in it is 
about as large as Central Park; the lawn, where I 
suppose Lilian will wish to have her tennis and 
croquet and things, is about as large as Prospect 
Park in Brooklyn ; and the 'whole thing,' as you 
call it, is about eight times as large as both parks 
put together." 

" O Uncle Philip !" 

When Willie finally left with his uncle to find 
out for himself exactly how much of these wonder- 
ful stories was true. Mamma was very quiet for a 
day or two. She was not so sure as Papa and 
Uncle Philip seemed to be that her boy would like 
"roughing it," and she was afraid no one would 
remember to look in at night to see if he were 
warmly covered up. She waited anxiously for his 
first letter; she was quite sure, whatever he might 
say in it, that she should know if he were really 

When the letter came, it was a postal caiid, and 
read as follows : 

" When you cum out here, plesc brin^ me .1 prezent of sum 
collars for two puppy-dogs." 

He did not say a word about being happy or 
unhappy, but Mamma was so clever that she said 
she was (|ultc satisfied .about it all, and she was 



never heard to worry again about the extra blanket 
at night. When the second letter came, it was 
another postal card, which read thus : 

" Deau I'Al'A : Ive bawt a horse. He is .i Good Horse. I pade 
thirty dollars for him. I havn't bawt him to ride, but to speccullate. 
You no you sed you would by me a horse, and Ide like to sell you 
this one for me to ride. You can hav him for fifty dollars. Uncle 
Fillip sez fifty dollars is cheap for horses. He sez youll find it a 
bargin. And I cnod keep the horse I like and make twenty dollars 
on him. Uncle Fillip sez it izn't olTen that a bargin is a bargin for 
both sides. Let me no if you wamt to by him on theze condishuns. 
*' Your affekshionet sun, 

"William G. Leslie." 

Two months later, the entire family started to 
join Willie at the ranch. The first day's journey 
was very lovely, on the Pennsylvania Central 
Railroad, through the Susquehanna valley and 
among the Alleghany mountains. 

" But I don't see any 'chincry. Papa," complained 
little Nora, after gazing steadily out of the window. 

They could not imagine at first what Nora 
meant; but they discovered at last that having 
heard them talk a great deal about the "beautiful 
scenery " that they were to see from the cars, she 
had supposed them to mean beautiful " machin- 
ery," such as Papa had shown her once at the 
American Institute Exhibition. 

Behind them in the cars sat a gentleman who. 
Mamma whispered, was Mark Twain. 

" But he has n't said a single funny thing all 
the way," complained Lilian, on the second morn- 
ing: " for I 've been listening all the time." 

" Of course he has n't," explained Fred. " He 
keeps his funny things for his books." 

"And perhaps," suggested Lilian, " he is wait- 
ing to hear i/s say something funny, to put that in 
his book. But I certainly shan't ; " and Lilian 
closed her lips with unusual emphasis, lest a witti- 
cism should escape unawares. 

" in// he put us in his book, do you think. 
Papa?" asked Nora, anxiously. 

" Well, it is just possible he may say something 
about a little girl who could n't find any machinery 
in the mountains," said Papa, slyly. 

Late in the afternoon of the third day, they 
stepped from the cars at last, to find Uncle Philip 
waiting with the carriage, a big team for the lug- 
gage, and Willie prancing about on the horse he 
had " bawt." 

" Mamma," said he, solemnly, " it 's all true ! " 

" What is true, my son ? " 

" Everything that LIncle Philip said ! " 

And away he cantered, or " loped," as they call it 
in Kansas. The visitors exclaimed at the beauty 
of the prairie ; for, although it was very early in 
the season, and the trees had been still leafless 
when they left New York, the prairie wild flowers 
were already in blossom, and as far as the eye could 
see, the grass was studded with brilliant portulacca. 

" It must be God's flower-garden. Mamma," 
whispered Nora; "for I don't think any one else 
could plant so many ! " 

"What is that village in the distance, Philip?" 
asked Mrs. Leslie, when they had been driving 
about ten minutes. 

" Willie," called his uncle, " your mother wishes 
to know what that village is in the distance ? " 

Willie almost rolled from his horse in his 

" It is n't a village, Mary," explained Mr. Leslie. 
" It 's a fort. I can see the main buildings of 
stone, and the American flag floating from the 
top. Fort Harker, 1 presume. Is n't it Fort 
Harker, Phihp?" 

" Willie," again called his uncle, " your father 
says it is n't a village, but a fort. He thinks it 
must be Fort Harker ! " 

This time they were quite sure Willie would fall 
from his horse in the ecstasy of his amusement. 

" Why, Papa, that is the ranch ! and the flag is 
our flag ! " 

"I bought that flag in New York," explained 
Lhicle Philip, "the day Lilian told me that the 
young ladies at her school, who expected to corre- 
spond with her this summer, wanted to know what 
the postage to Kansas was. 1 can't have my 
nephews and nieces think that in coming to see 
me they are expatriating themselves from the land 
of the free and the home of the brave." 

The many buildings on the ranch — the stables, 
corrals, sheep-sheds, hen-house, tool-house, pig- 
gery, water-tower, windmill, cook-house, and so 
on, — did, indeed, give the appearance of a thriving 
little village ; and as Mamma entered the comfort- 
able dwelling-house, she laughed to remember her 
fears about Willie's "roughing it" and having, 
perhaps, no extra blanket on cold nights. Next 
to her room was a cheery little room for Nora ; 
but as the little girl had never slept quite alone 
before, they were not surprised to hear a little 
voice in the night calling : 

" Mamma, are you there ? " 

Mamma answered in person, and as she smoothed 
the pillow, said : 

" You know it is very foolish to call anybody up 
in the night, Nora, unless you really want some- 

"I did want something. Mamma; I wanted 

" But if you wake up, you must turn over and 
go to sleep again. That is the way I do. I never 
call anybody." 

" 1 know you don't now," said Nora, wistfully. 
" Uid n't you call anybody when you werea babv ? " 

Mamma did not make any direct reply, but 
busied herself witli the coverlet. 

"o UNCLE Philip!" 


The next night Nora slept till morning ; a little 
surprised at not being praised for this feat at the 
breakfast-table, she inquired, gravely: 

"Mamma, did you hear me not call you last 
night ? " 

Now began long and happy days for them all, — 
days full of excitements so varied that at the end 
of the summer, Fred declared that he had not been 
berrying, and he had not had a sail ; but he 
believed he had done everything else that a boy 
could do to have a good time. Each of them had 
a pony, and after the long, delicious gallops on 
the prairie, with the soft grass under their ponies' 
feet, not a stick nor a stone in the path to make 
them stumble, with the wild, free breeze blowing 
in their faces, and no need to slacken speed lest a 
carriage or a bicycle should be coming around the 
corner, they were quite sure they could never 
endiifi: to tide in a park again, and the thought 
of pacing solemnly around and around in a ring at 
the riding-school was simply intolerable. Willie, 
of course, appreciated at its true value his superior 
experience, and found it especially deUghtful to 
know more than Mamma about some things, at 

Uncle Philip ! just look at Mamma, out on the 
range with a parasol ! Is n't she a ' tender-foot ! ' " 
One amusement was watching the great flocks 
of sheep with the merry little lambs go in and out 
of the corrals night and morning. Then came the 
excitement of shearing-time, and loading the great 
wagons with heavy bags of wool to be sent to New 
York and Boston. There were fewer wild flowers 
as the summer heat increased ; but after the wild 
flowers came the great harvests of grain, and the 
children — the elders, too, for that matter — were 
never weary of watching the wonderful machines, 
almost human in their intelligence, so it seemed, 
that cut the grain, tying it into bundles as it accu- 
mulated, or threshed the rich wheat from the 
useless chaff. The hay-fields — and Uncle Philip 
expected to cut two thousand tons of hay that 
summer — were, many of them, so far from the 
home ranch that the men had a complete camping 
outlit, not to waste time going back and forth for 
their meals. Of the delights of visiting that camp, 
I forbear to write, lest those of you who, poor 
things, are obliged to spend the summer at New- 
port or Mount Desert should have your simple 

last. " Just think. Uncle Philip !" was his favorite pleasures spoiled for you by the comparison, 
exclamation, "Mamma thought tliat flock of Then there were picnics at the great cave, beauti- 
sheep was a hedge-fence ! " or, " Uncle Philip ! fully shaded with great trees along the creek, 



where wonderful Indian hieroglyphics 
were found, and where the gentle- 
men — as the shooting season began, 
and they scattered over the prairie for 
prairie-chicken, quail, plover, or duck 
— were glad to come together for after- 
noon tea, made from Mrs. Leslie's urn. 
And at last, just before they were going 
home, they had one of the genuine 
prairie excitements. 

They all had been dining at Elk 
Horn ranch, — the charming home of 
their nearest neighbors, — and as they 
rose from the table, smoke was seen 
in the distance. Experienced eyes, 
however, pronounced that it was noth- 
ing alarming, and they all sat on the 
piazza for another hour. When at last 
the horses were brought around, they 
had hardly driven a quarter of a mile, 
before a man without any hat met 
them on horseback, shouting : 

" You can not get home, Mr. Les- 
lie ! The fire is raging for miles be- 
tween here and your house ! " 

" But 1 must get home ! " shouted 
Uncle Philip, as he gave the whip to 
his horses. They were only four miles 
from their own house, but between 
raged a sea of prairie fire ! 

It was a terrible sight, as they ap- 
proached the place where flames began 
to be visible. Of course there were no 
towering buildings with roofs ablaze 
and crackling walls, and they had no 
fear of any lives being in danger; but 
to see acres of low grass all aflame, 
like a lake of fire miles in extent, was 
a thrilling sight in itself, even if one 
were not wondering what might be 
happening at the dear home just be- 
yond. Uncle Philip drove to a little 
patch of plowed ground, waiting there 
with the smoke and cinders almost 
blinding their eyes, and the fearful 
wind almost blowing them from the 
carriage, till the flames had passed 
over a strip of land wide enough for the horses to 
pass through. Then, on and on, as fast as the excited 
animals could run, waiting from time to time on 
little squares of plowed ground, till they came to a 
strip of furious flame, which did not seem to yield 
even after waiting ten or fifteen minutes. I must 
get to my sheep ! " exclaimed Uncle Philip, and in 
another moment they were driving straight through 
and over the flaming grass ! It did not last long, 
of course ; but they drove home at a furious pace, 


to find that the fire had paused about a mile from 
the house, though all the men on the ranch were 
at work there, beating down the flames with old 
blankets, branches of trees, and even old clothes 
dipped in water. It was a fierce struggle ; and 
they worked till late into the evening before they 
could feel that house and crops and "range" 
were at last cjuite safe. 

"You look like Meg Merrilies, Mamma," said 
Lilian, as she tried to smooth her mother's flving 




wraps and disordered hair. "A prairie fire is dread- 
ful. But then I suppose a cyclone would have 
been worse ! " 

" What is a cyclone ? " inquired Nora. 

" It is a terrible storm, my little girl," explained 

Uncle Philip. "And if it should make up its 
mind to take you with it to Kansas City, it would 
carry you there faster than any railway train you 
ever saw." 

"O Uncle Philip!" 

H E 


Bv Laura E. Richards. 

Hey, the little postman, 

And his little dog! 
Here he comes a-hopping 

Like a little frog ; 
Bringing me a letter. 

Bringing me a note, 
In the little pocket 
Of his little coat. 

Hey, the little postman, 

And his little bag ! 
Here he comes a-trotting 

Like a little nag ; 
Bringing me a paper, 

Bringing me a bill 
From the httle grocer 

On the little hill. 

Hey, the little postman. 
And his little hat ! 

Here he comes a-crccping 
Like a little cat. 

What is that he 's saying ? 

" None for you to-day?" 

Cruel little postman, 
I wish you 'd go away. 





liv J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter V. 

Kit had to go back on his course again, but 
not far; and he was soon following the path among 
the undergrowth. Fresh hoof-prints in soft places 
amid the roots and dead leaves corroborated the 
laborer's story ; they led to the grassy hollow, 
where a spot which some beast had lately grazed 
was plainly to be seen near another that showed an 
impression, like that of a human form, on the bank. 

" It must have been a man that lay here ; that 
shows it," said Kit, turning over the stump of a 
cigar with his foot. 

Of course, neither man nor horse was there then ; 
but he was able to follow the foot-prints along a 
winding cart-track, through beautiful, open, sun- 
spotted woods, until he came to a pair of posts 
with three bars, the two upper ones of which were 
let down. 

"To take Dandy through," said Kit to himself 
" Here are his tracks still ! " and he followed them 
into a wild, rocky, and hilly road beyond. 

Farther along were some men gathering squashes 
in a field, and Kit shouted his question at them 
across a brier-overgrown stone wall. 

"Yes, we 've seen a man with just such a 
horse," one shouted back from a wagon in which 
he stood, catching the squashes another man and 
a boy tossed up to him. 

In spite of the briers. Kit was over the wall in a 
moment, and the squash-gatherers stopped their 
work to hear his eager questions. 

" No," said the man in the wagon, "I didn't 
notice the braided foretop nor the other marks 
which you describe. The fellow wanted to sell 
or trade his horse ; but as I did n't want either 
to buy or swap, I did n't take the trouble to go and 
look at his beast. 1 guess you '11 hear of him far- 
ther up the road." 

All the boy's hope and strength seemed to come 
back with the joy of this good news. How glad 
he now was that he had not given over the pursuit, 
as more than once in his discouragement and 
fatigue he had been tempted to do ! And how 
fortunate that he had got so early a start, after the 
theft was discovered ! 

" Perhaps Uncle Gray will take back some of 
his hard words," he said, anticipating the triumph 
of riding Dandy home, or of carrying a certain 
clew to his whereabouts. " And how pleased 
Mother will he ! " 

He heard of the horse at two or three places, 
and at last got a ride with a j-oung farmer, who 
gave him a startling piece of information. 

" I 've seen your horse-thief, certain as the 
world ! He wanted to sell me the animal for a 
hundred dollars, and I think I might have bought 
it, but 1 don't like to take a horse I 've never seen 
before, for fear there might be something wrong 
about it." 

Kit described Dandy's marks. 

"Yes, that's the one!" said the farmer. "I 
looked at his feet, and I remember he had no shoes 
in front. His foretop was n't braided, but it was 
crinkled, as if it had been braided and the braids 
had been taken out. A cunning thief would be apt 
to do that." 

He also remembered the mottles on the sides. 
Kit asked excitedly when and where he had seen 
the man and horse. 

"A little before noon," was the reply. "The 
fellow stopped to get dinner and bait his horse at 
my father-in-law's, the next house to mine. It 's 
just possible he 's there now. I 've been down the 
road since dinner, and am just driving home." 

So saying, he whipped up his horse ; while Kit, 
with impatient expectation, strained his eyes in the 
direction of the father-in-law's house in the distance. 
The young farmer drove rapidly by his own door, 
and turned up at the next front-yard. The father- 
in-law himself came out leisurely to meet him. 

" Where 's that fellow who took dinner here, 
and had the horse to sell ? " cried the young 
farmer. To which the old farmer responded with 
a deliberation strangely in contrast with Kit's 
breathless excitement : 

"That chap? He's been gone an hour. He 
hung 'round, trying to get me to make him an 
offer, till I fairly had to send him away." 

" It 's too bad ! " said the young man. " The 
horse was stolen, and it belongs to this boy's 
uncle. Where did he go ? " 

The old farmer looked at Kit's changing coun- 
tenance, and replied : 

" I said to him, ' The best place to sell your 
horse is over at Peaceville, at the cattle-show.' ' Is 
there a cattle-show at Peaceville ? ' said he. ' Yes,' 
1 said, ' it opens to-day, and holds to-day and to- 
morrow.' 'That's an idea,' said he; 'how far 
is it ? ' 1 told him about eight miles ; then he 
wanted to know the best way to get there, and 
started ott". 1 've no doubt that he will go straight 




to the cattle-show with his stolen horse, if he don't 
sell it on the way. " 

" What did he say for himself? What sort of 
looking man was he ?" Kit asked. 

" He said he had been to collect a bad debt, and 
had been obliged to take a horse he did n't want, 
and that was why he was willing to dispose of it 
at any price. But I did n't have much faith in 
what he said, though he was a rather good-looking, 
pleasant fellow. Sallow-complected, red hair, about 
average height, and he wore a common-looking 
suit of some sort of dark checked goods, and a nar- 
row-brimmed, low-crowned straw hat." 

All this corresponded well with what Kit had 
heard before, and enabled him to form in his 
mind so distinct an image of the fugitive that he 
felt almost sure he would recognize him when he 
saw him, even if he were not riding Dandy. 

"Do you suppose he has really gone to the 
cattle-show?" he asked, turning to the younger 
farmer. " Or might he not have made a pretense 
of going, to throw pursuers off his track?" 

" Either is likely enough ; but I think it more 
probable he will try to sell the horse at the fair. 
That being in another county, and so far away, he 
wont expect to meet there any of your neighbors 
who know the animal. Your best course," the 
young man added, "will be to take the road to 
Peaceville, and inquire for him as you go along." 

" I think so myself. And 1 must lose no time ! " 

Adding a word of hearty thanks. Kit was step- 
ping down from the wagon, when the young man 
stopped him. 

" Sit still; 1 '11 drive you over to the main road 
you are to strike ; 1 only wish 1 could go all the 
way ! " 

"I wish you could!" exclaimed the grateful 
boy. " But I shall be glad of even a little lift." 

He was beginning to feel more foot-sore and leg- 
weary than he had ever been in his life, and it was 
with pain and repugnance that he stepped down 
upon the road-side where the friendly young farmer 
was obliged to leave him. His stomach was empty 
and faint, and there was a spot in the small of his 
back which seemed to be tiring of its share in the 
day's business, and threatening to strike work 

He felt that he could not afford a minute's time- 
to rest, or even to get a bite at a farm-house, so 
much depended on the speed with which he could 
follow the thief. He had quenched his thirst at 
way-side wells and springs, and helped himself to 
apples in orchards as he passed ; and with such 
scanty refreshment he trudged on wearily. 

It was very near sunset when, dusty and hag- 
gard and spent, he came in sight of the cool 
meadows and sluggish, winding river on the pleas- 

ant outskirts of Peaceville. From afar off he was 
shown the high-towered fair-building in the midst 
of the grounds where the cattle-show was held; 
and at last the colossal image of an ox-yoke above 
a broad open gateway assured his anxiously beat- 
ing heart that he had arrived at the entrance. 

Chapter VI. 

When the gate-keeper asked for his ticket, Kit 
in return inquired for Dandy and his rider. The 
man shook his head. 

" I have seen too many horses to remember any 
particular one," he said. " Your man may have 
left his horse outside, or he may have taken it 
in ; I can't tell." 

" Shall I have to pay to go in ? " Kit asked, hav- 
ing learned that a ticket of .admission would cost 
half a dollar. " I have n't come to see the fair, 
only to hunt for a stolen horse." 

The man took out his watch, then looked Kit 
over carefully. 

"All right," he said. "It's the end of the 
show for to-day, anyhow." And he turned back 
into the grounds, accompanied by Kit. 

The man appeared interested in something tak- 
ing place on the other side of a railing that 
swept around in a wide curve near the entrance, 
inclosing, as Kit found, that indispensable feature 
of the agricultural fair-ground, the trotting-park. 

There was a crowd of spectators farther along, 
on the side where he was, while beyond, far away 
on the broad, well-trodden circular track, he saw 
half a dozen or more horses with light sulkies com- 
ing swiftly around toward him. Each sulky had its 
occupant perched on the little frame that served as 
a seat, ridiculously close to the tail of the trotter he 
was urging. The dust of the track leaped up like 
smoke in dull gray puffs under the flying hoofs, 
rose in a cloud behind, and gradually mingled 
with the ring of thin, dingy haze, of like earthy 
origin, overhanging the entire race-course. 

Four or five of the trotters fell behind, and 
became scattered along the track, while two passed, 
nearly abreast, the spot where Kit was, and shot 
by the judges' stand, — a square-roofed tower 
inside the track, — amid a tumult of cheers from 
the crowd without. Some one's horse had won ; 
Kit did not care whose; he only waited to see that 
Dandy Jim was not on the track (for which 
absui'd idea he laughed well at himself afterward), 
and then turned to look through the stables be- 
hind the course. 

He found only blooded animals there, and soon 
satisfied himself that it was not the place to look 
for Dandy Jim. Meanwhile, some visitors who 



had their teams in the fair-grounds were hitching 
them up, and driving out. He scanned them 
rapidly, and, hastening across the field amid a 
throng of pedestrians taking their departure, 
found a number of horses, some harnessed to 
wagons and some detached, tied to ropes or rails 
between the race-course and the central fair- 
buildings, or pavilion. 

With a heart full of distressing anxiety, he 
looked at every animal ; but Uandy Jim was no- 
where to be seen. Was his toilsome journey then 
in vain ? Had the thief, whom he had traced until 
within a mile or two of the village, suddenly taken 
another turn and eluded him ? Or had the horse 
been actually brought there, and sold, and taken 
away again, before his arrival ? This was the re- 
sult he had dreaded most, and a final, sicken- 
ing fear settled upon him that this was what had 

The far-spreading fields of the river-valley were 
already in shadow, and the sunshine was fast fad- 
ing from the wooded hills ; evening was closing 
in with a beauty and dewy coolness which made 
the movements of the crowds, and the dusty can- 
opy over the race-track, seem something alien and 
strange. The bell at the judges' stand was tink- 
ling for starts and recalls, and every one who 
was not leaving the grounds appeared interested 
in the next heat to be run. No one noticed or 
cared for poor Kit, not even a policeman to whom 
he appealed ; and in all these throngs he saw not 
a face he knew. 

There were fruit-wagons and ginger-beer carts, 
side-shows and refreshment-tents, farther on ; 
while a distant sound of lowing and bleating told 
him that the cattle-sheds were on the other side of 
the grounds. He determined to make the tour 
of them, asking for Dandy of every man who 
would give him a moment's attention. The side- 
shows with their highly colored placards did not 
allure him, nor had he any desire to see " the fin- 
est museum of curiosities " ever opened to an 
ungrateful world for the low price of ten cents ; 
nor to try his luck at swinging the ball around the 
peg, a little game at which he was told by the 
proprietor there was a chance to win a small 

But here Kit, looking for friendly faces to which 
to address his questions, suddenly stopped. 

" It beats everything ! " said a young man, giving 
the ball a final spiteful swing. " When I swung it 
just for fun, I could knock down the peg by the 
return swing every time. But as sure as I put 
up my money, I knock it down the other way, 
and lose. How do you manage it, old Punkin- 
eater ? " 

" It 's all luck," replied the proprietor, coolly 

pocketing his dimes. " Walk up ; don't be afraid, 
gentlemen? You pay ten cents for a swing, and 
if you knock the peg down with the ball coming 
back, you win half a dollar ; five for one. Try it ? " 

He appealed to Kit in vain; Kit just then had 
his fascinated eyes on the young man who had 
been losing. Suddenly he stepped forward and 
extended his hand with the eagerness of one 
snatching at the smallest chance of friendly assist- 
ance, exclaiming: 

" Cassius Branlow ! " 

Cassius Branlow gave a start of surprise, and 
eyed him sharply. 

" You have slightly the advantage of me, young 
man," he replied coolly. 

"Don't you know me? You used to work for 
my father in the tin-shop. I am Kit ! " 

"Ah ! Kit indeed ! But, great Scott ! what has 
happened to you ? You look as if you had been 
seeing the elephant, and been slightly stepped on. 
How 's your father ? It seems an age since I 've 
been among the East Adam folk." 

The young man rattled away so glibly that it 
was some moments before Kit could tell his story. 
Then he said, appealingly : 

"My father is dead. And I am living with 
Uncle Gray. His horse was stolen last night ; I 
have traced it to this town, and I think to this 
cattle-show. I don't know anybody here — and I 
am so glad 1 have met you ! " 

Mr. Cassius Branlow opened his eyes and held 
his breath a second or two before exclaiming: 

" What a volley of thunderbolts you fire off at a 
poor mortal, all at once ! Your father dead ? Just 
as I was thinking of going back to work for him 
again ! The best man I ever worked for in seven 
States! And your uncle's — -what did you say? — 
his horse stolen ? " 

"Yes; I've been traveling all day to find it. 
And now, here I am, at night, twenty miles from 
home, — though it's farther than that by the way 
I 've come, — in a place where I don't know a soul, 
and I don't know what to do ! " Here poor Kit's 
voice broke. 

"Do?" cried Mr. Cassius Branlow, cheeringly. 
" 1 '11 tell you what you must do. Step into this 
refreshment-tent with me and get a lunch, the first 
thing. That 's what you need." 

" I can't do that," replied Kit, "till 1 have found 
the horse. Come around hei-e with me ; I have 
looked everywhere except on the side of the cattle- 

" There are no horses over there," said Bran- 
low, very positively, "and I don't believe the man 
who took yours would be likely to bring it to so 
public a place as this. Though I must say it 
seems to be a great resort for doubtful characters 




of all kinds. Is n't it a shame," he went on, with- 
out giving Kit a chance to reply, " that the agri- 
cultural fair — an institution from which so much 
good is expected — should have run down, as it has 
of late years, and have been given over almost en- 
tirely to horse-racing ! Look around you here 
to-day, and what do you see ? " 

"I don't see what I want to — my uncle's 
horse ! " said Christopher. 

"A few calves and pigs, a little show of fruit 
and garden-stuff — I could eat all the pears and 
grapes there are in the hall in a few hours ! " Mr. 
Branlow declared. "And what else is there be- 
sides the horse-trotting? That's what I call de- 
moralizing. But it 's of a piece with some of 
these outside shows. There 's that little game of 
swinging the ball, for example." 

" The one you were just now playing?" queried 
Christopher, surprised to hear his old acquaint- 
ance criticise the management of the cattle-show 
from a moral point of view. 

"I wished to see if it Avas anything more than 
the miserable game of chance which I proved it 
to be," replied Bi-anlow. "I call it a disgrace 
to New England agriculture that such a thing 
should be allowed at any of its annual exhibi- 
tions. Don't you ? " 

" It does n't seem to be just right," said Chris- 
topher. "I hadn't thought about it before. I 
can't think of anything but Uncle Gray's horse ! " 
And he gazed anxiously about. 

"Your Uncle Gray, as I remember him," said 
Cassius, "is a most excellent man, with a nose 
like a short sickle, and a tendency to asthma. 
It 's too bad about his horse ! I must try to help 
you find it." 

" I should be so glad if you would ! " exclaimed 
the grateful Christopher. 

"Of course I will," rejoined Branlow. "Now, 
let 's see ! If the fellow was so foolish as to bring 
it to a show like this " 

" It 's out of our county, and a long way from 
the place where the horse is known," suggested 
Kit. "I don't believe there 's anybody here from 
our town but myself" 

" I had n't thought of that," replied Branlow. 
" And you say you have traced him to Peaceville ? " 

" I am sure of it ! " affirmed Kit. 

"In that case," said Branlow, "you 're doing 
a very unwise thing to stand here talking with me. 
Don't you see ? The rascal may not yet have 
brought the horse into the grounds ; or, if he has, 
he may spy you out, and get off with it while 
you are gaping about. I '11 tell you what 's your 
scheme. You should be at the entrance, where 
you '11 be sure to see him if he takes the horse out 
or in. You made a mistake leaving it." 

" Perhaps I did," poor Kit murmured. "But 
1 thought there might be some other way out, and 
1 could look around in a few minutes." 

" There 's no other way out ; and you 'd better 
leave me to look about for you. Describe the 
horse, so I shall know it if I see it." 

Kit described Dandy's points, Avhich Cassius 
rehearsed after him, telling them off on his 
fingers. "A dark-brown horse" (first finger). 
" Mottled with lighter spots on his sides " (second 
ditto). " Foretop looks as if it had been lately 
braided — shod behind, not before — yes! yes! 
I 've got him ! " said Branlow, touching fingers 
number three and four. 

"You've got him?" repeated the startled 

"On my fingers," Branlow smilingly explained ; 
"and here!" touching his forehead. "1 shall 
know that horse when I see it. Light-brown, with 
darker spots " 

"No, no!" cried Kit. "Dark-brown, with 
lighter roundish mottles " 

" Certainly ! Is n't that what I said ? I '11 look 
at every horse on the ground, and if it 's shod 
before and not behind " 

" Behind and not before ! " interrupted Chris- 

"Hear me out!" continued Branlow. "If it's 
shod before and not behind, I shall know at once 
it is n't your horse. Now rush to the gate, and 
don't leave it till I meet you there. We '11 have 
your nag, and trap the rogue, too, if they 're on 
this ground." 

Kit started to run toward the entrance ; while 
Mr. Cassius Branlow, instead of devoting his time 
and energies at once to making the promised 
search, stood, holding Dandy Jim poised on the 
ends of his fingers, and smilingly watched the 
boy as he scudded away across the open field, 
amid the scattered pedestrians. 

Suddenly Mr. Cassius snapped Dandy off his 
finger-tips, and uttered his favorite exclamation : 

" Great Scott !" 

This was called out by an unexpected move- 
ment on the part of Christopher, who, seeing some 
wagons over on the side of the cattle-pens, and 
reasoning that, where wagons were, horses were 
likely to be, notwithstanding Branlow's positive 
assurance to the contrary, and the fact that none 
were in sight, turned aside from his course, in 
order to give a rapid look in that direction. 

" I can see at the same time if anybody on 
horseback passes in or out," he said to himself, 
keeping an eye on the entrance while hastening 
to the sheds. 

These were mostly empty, the great annual 
cattle-show having dwindled, as Branlow truly ob- 



served, to a mere horse-racing affair, with a pretty 
exhibition of fruits and vegetables and a little 
live-stock thrown in as additional attractions. A 
few of the pens were occupied by handsome 
cattle and noble-looking swine, which no one 
seemed interested in just then ; while Kit saw that 
the owners of the wagons had taken advantage of 
the condition of things by slipping their horses 

ting in the horses, some of which were loosely 
harnessed, while the harnesses of others had been 
stripped off and left in the wagons near by, or 
thrown across the low pai titions of boards divid- 
ing the pens. 

In the gloom of these low-roofed stalls three 
or four of the animals looked much alike, and 
all appeared dark enough to be Dandy Jims 


into the least dilapidated of the ancient-looking, to the wild-eyed boy peering eagerly over the 

unused sheds. bars. But at sight of one he gave a cry of 

These owners, like almost every one who was joy : 

not leaving the grounds, were over at the trotting- " Dandy ! Dandy Jim ! " 

course. It was quite late, and the sheds were And the horse gave a quick, low whinny of 

in shadow. Each had two or three bars up, shut- recognition. 

{To Ik continued.) 




By E. Vinton Blake. 


The Dalzells again ! Not among the rose- 
gardens of Dalzell Hall, not upon the wide slopes 
that climb upward from the sea all around Uaisy- 
down, not amid the sweet, wind-blown fragrances 
of summer or the ripe fruitage of autumn days ; — 
but in snowy, blowy December weather, by the 
shores of a great river — ice-bound now — that flows 
through eastern New York to the sea, do we find 
Ranald, Houghton, and Phil. 

You who have read of Molly Arnold's three 
friends — she had none stauncher, I trow — may 
be glad to hear from them again. 

It was very near Christmas when Miss Molly 
electrified her f;imily one morning at the break- 
fast-table with '• Papa, I 've an idea !" 

"What a rarity! Might I inquire what it is?" 
asked her father, with a smile. 

" I want to ask you a favor," added Molly. 

" That 's not so surprising," exclaimed Mr. 

" I wish to invite some friends of mine here for 
the holidays. The Dalzells were very kind to me 
last summer at Daisydown," continued Molly, 
hesitating a little. 



"They were more than kind," said Mr. Arnold, 

" And 1 'd like to ask them here," added Molly, 
making a bold plunge. 

Mrs. Arnold calmly put up her eye-glass, and 
looked fixedly at her daughter. Under the ques- 
tioning gaze, Molly's enthusiastic certainty of 
belief in her plan oozed gradually out at her 
finger-ends. She played with her fork, and sat 
quite silent, her eyes directed toward her plate. 

Mr. Arnold glanced quickly from his wife to 
his daughter. 

" I have heard a great deal about the young 
Dalzell gentlemen," observed Mrs. Arnold, after a 
long pause, transferring her attention to her hus- 
band. " May I ask your opinion of them ?" 

"They're very fine boys," said Mr. Arnold, 
tersely, pushing away his chair. " I 'd be happy 
to see them here." 

When Mr. Arnold was about departing down- 
town, Molly waylaid him with a flying bound from 
the reception-room. 

" Papa ! "in a half whisper, "can the boys come?" 

"Oh, 1 think so," he answered, with an indul- 
gent smile. And Molly rested content. 

The ne.xt day, Mrs. Arnold graciously conde- 
scended to write a kind and pressing invitation for 
the whole family, Mr. Tripton Dalzell included. 
She had seen the latter several times — his boys, 
never. And Mrs. Arnold disliked boys. 

Following the invitation and its acceptance, came 
what seemed at first an unlucky coincidence — a let- 
ter from Murat Havemeyer, at Poughkeepsie-on- 
the- Hudson, proffering them Christmas hospitalities 
and ICE-YACHTING ! if they would but make haste 
to come up. How Molly's cheeks glowed ! Had 
not she been out in the " Rondina " only the win- 
ter before, in a glorious skim, away down below 
Newburgh ? Ice-yachting, indeed ! 

Then her color faded. For one moment she re- 
pented having invited the Dalzell boys. The next, 
she reddened again, ashamed of her selfishness. 

"No, 1 'm not sorry, — not very. 1 'm glad 
they 're coming, and 1 '11 do every single thing 1 
can to make it pleasant for them. But oh, 1 do 
wish we might have ice-yachting nearer home ! 
It 's the finest sport in the world ! " she cried. 

"Dear me," said Mr. Arnold, "we must see 
about this. 1 'm not quite a magician, but I think 
this state of things might perhaps be remedied. 
Ice-yachting does not come every day." 

And Molly rested in hope, — such confidence had 
she in her father. 

In due time the Dalzclls arrived. The Christ- 
mas festivities were brilliant indeed ; but with them 
we have naught to do. Nor yet with anything, 
save the fact that arrangements were somehow 

Vol. XII.— 13. 

completed by which Ranald, Houghton, Phil, and 
Molly — the latter attended by Mrs. Arnold's maid 
— went up to Mr. Havemeyer's at Poughkeepsie, 
for three or four days. 

And now, for the first time since our happy sum- 
mering, we meet face to face Houghton, Ranald, 
and Phil. We do not see much change ; Hough- 
ton is as quiet as ever ; Ranald's gray eyes are as 
shrewdly penetrating ; Phil's bluntness seems to 
have suffered no abatement. He is rather the shy- 
est of the three, just now, for he has not quite got 
his "bearings"; and young Murat Havemeyer, 
aged nineteen, is a rather self-sufficient and authori- 
tative young fellow. Phil, watching him, decides 
in his mind that he does not like young Murat. 

But Murat the elder understands boys. That is 
such a comfort ! Before they know it, they are 
talking to him quite as if they had always known 
him, and he listens and answers with that imper- 
turbable, jolly good humor of his, the sun reflecting 
from the kindly depths of his brown eyes, and 
bringing out tawny glints in his full beard. For 
they are down by the frozen Hudson, and the 
" Rondina," swiftest and wariest of ice-swallows, is 
at hand, ready for a start ; and it is a sunshiny Wed- 
nesday morning, with a fresh wind and a sting in 
the air. And Miss Molly's frizzes are particularly 
fluffy, and her blonde braid hangs to her waist be- 
low her snug hood, and she wears a long, close ul- 
ster and seal-skin gloves. Every one is buttoned 
and tied up, excepting Houghton and young Mu- 
rat, who are not going on this trip. 

It can not be said that young Murat is exactly 
easy in his mind because of the lack of confidence 
in his skill manifested by his father. 

" I '11 take the helm to-day, my dear fellow, if 
you 've no objections," Murat the elder has said 
to him an hour previous. "We 've a fresh wind 
abeam, and I wont risk Miss Molly's precious neck 
with your mad steering. If Mr. Houghton Dalzell 
has a mind to ship with you by and by, — at his 
own peril, — why. I 've nothing to say." 

So now, Murat, a little sore at this disparage- 
ment in Molly's presence, gloomily watches the 

" Now, Mr. Ranald, if you were aboard a streak 
of blue lightning, what would you do ? " inquires 
Mr. Havemeyer. 

"1 think I should — hold on tight," answers 
Ranald, with a laugh. 

"Just what I 'd advise you to do to-day," says 
I\Ir. Havemeyer, with a bland warning. " I under- 
stand from Miss Molly that you and your cousin 
are excellent sailors." He smiles at Phil. 

" 1 like boating," says Phil, eagerly. 

'■ Does the ice-yacht work like a water-yacht?" 
inquires Ranald, surveying the queer runners, the 




"box" aft, the sheet hauled taut, the jib cast oft", 
and the rudder turned straight across. 

" Not precisely,'' answers Mr. Havemeyer, as- 
sisting Miss Molly to her place. " The sails are 
always trimmed flat aft, unless the wind is too 
strong ; then the boom may be cast off a foot 
or so. Now, young gentlemen, your safest place 
is the windward runner. You can hold by the 

white, marked here and there with the dark inter- 
section of fence and wall. How the long ice- 
covered river opens and widens before them ! 

Now here comes Blue Point, bare and ragged 
against the steely blue sky ; and of a sudden 
Ranald hears, above the ceaseless whir of the 
runners, a dull, booming, crack ! crack ! that runs 
from under their very feet, seemingly clear across 
the river. Now the runners crash lightly through 
windrow of ice, and the transparent sheets 
rattle and fall like window-glass ! The wind blows 
and blows. Aha ! this is "something like !" 
"Hold fast, boys!" shouts Mr. Have- 
meyer; and with a wild dash and a sweep 
like a swallow's, they are about and away 


shrouds. You ballast the windward side nicelv. 
All ready? " 

Mr. Havemeyer trims the jib, and Murat the 
younger swings the stern around and pushes a 
step or two. The next instant they are on the 

Ice-yachting is very new to the Dalzells. The 
first things Ranald notices are the deserted docks 
of Poughkeepsie, — the Havemeyer mansion is just 
above, near the river, — a few sloops, ice-bound, 
and the smoke of many furnaces, blown straight 
out in the crisp, cold air. 

With what a speed they fly ! How clear-cut 
everything appears in the sharp, winter morning ! 
The headlands are bleak and bare, the fields 


on a new tack. How the scene changes ! How 
the headlands fly to meet them ! Ranald rubs his 
eyes with one hand. That was a bare, bleak hill 
— now it is dotted with evergreens; there is a 
house among them — it is gone ! 

" This beats instantaneous photography !" says 
Phil under his breath. He holds on tightly. 

Now, with another sudden, unpremeditated swing 
they are about again ; the crushed ice flies like 
diamond spray from the runners ; the wind whis- 
tles through the ropes and sails ; the yacht sways 
and leaps, bounds and heels sideways ; it trembles 
all over, and they feel as if they themselves had 
wings and were sweeping through space ! Molly's 
cheeks glow, her eyes are ablaze with excitement. 



The rudder moves as easily as a straw in Mr. 
Havemeyer's strong hand; it is wonderful how 
the wild, wayward thing obeys the slightest touch. 
Surely it feels — it knows — it is alive ! 

" Hi ! " shouts Ranald, as we flash straight 
toward a pool of open water, black and still. 
"Aha!" — But where is the water now? They 
skim over thin, transparent ice ; it cracks ; they 
can see the boiling and bubbling of the confined 
and swiftly flowing tides. Now, with a sudden 
bound, the runner strikes a little mound of ice 
and snow, and whiz ! flash ! It rears and wheels ; 
the runner is flung on high ; Ranald's feet fly out 
from under him, and he is swung wildly through 
the air, holding to the shrouds in desperation. 
When this trapeze performance is ended and he 
can catch his breath, there is a roar and rush 
behind them. What next ? 

The down train ! The boys look over their 
shoulders as the big, black monster shoots past. 
The whistle blows sharply ; there are handkerchiefs 
waving from the windows. The ice-yacht is just 
now holding nearly across the river. 

"A race ! a race, boys ! " cries Molly. 

She sees the quick turn of Mr. Havemeyer's 
hand, and with a sheer and a spring they are off 
after the train. 

" Molly, Ranald, this is glorious ! " cries Phil, 
quite carried out of himself Ranald says nothing, 
but the gray eyes are all aflame as he looks 
at Molly. There is a laughing flash from the 
hazel ones, and she calls out, "Didn't I tell 
you ! " 

Now the race — the race, boys ! Steam against 
wind ! How they fly ! Everything is blurred and 
melted together and indistinct. The ice is all a 
bluish white haze, with that diamond sparkle from 
the runners blazing up. 

The windows of the train are filled with heads; 
they seem to shout at the party on the ice-yacht, 
who hear only the rush and roar of the wind and 
the runners. The wind increases ; the boat rears 
higher ; the windward runner cuts fiercely 
through the air, and the crushed ice flies in a 
shower. Almost up with the train, now ; and 
creeping on ! 

Will the wind hold ? But never fear ; this is no 
flaw, but a steady gale. It seems as if the black 
train were slowing up; yet no, — it is the yacht 
which is flying faster, literally on the wings of the 
wind. And now — a crack in the ice ahead ! 

Mr. Havemeyer raises himself and scans the ice 
with eagle eye. An old hand at ice-yachting is he. 

" We can do it, I think," he says. 

Now, brave " Rondina ! " And the train sees the 
crack, too ; the cars seem alive all their long 
length with heads and gestures and warning 

shouts. Do they think everybody is asleep there 
on that light, flying, feathery wanderer? 

The upper edge of the crack is higher by full 
six inches than the lower; and between swirls the 
black, treacherous water. They are upon it ! 

Whiz ! — Splash ! — as the edge-ice sags and the 
runner catches the cold tide. There is a wild, trem- 
ulous swing and sway, a toss of the windward run- 
ner, and the crack is far astern. How the train 
cheers ! And look, now, the black, snorting en- 
gine falls behind ! Wind against steam ! Give 
them three cheers, boys, and swing your caps, and 
hold fast while you are about it. The track is 
clear ahead ; the locomotive whistles and snorts and 
shouts in wild salute at the yacht's victory. Faster, 
— faster, — till there is only the ring of the run- 
ners, the roar and rush of the wind, the tremble and 
leap and swing and sway of the wayward craft. 

But look ! What is this that comes wildly 
careering toward them ? A runawa}' yacht, with- 
out a soul aboard ! And lo ! yonder the care- 
less owners are chasing wildly and ineffectually 
after it. 

They might as well chase the wind. A little 
thoughtlessness, a little disembarking without let- 
ting loose the jib or putting the rudder hard down 
round, — and now the craft has flown. 

There is no swifter thing on earth than an ice- 
yacht; and Mr. Havemeyer's action is exceedingly 

" We shall have a collision here, next," says he ; 
and then the " Rondina" givesaqueer springanda 
wild flying sweep that takes Ranald so by surprise 
thathealmostgoes through thetrapeze performance 
again. How Molly manages to stay on is a puzzle. 
Tlien a sort of sidewise shift in the wind produces 
a corresponding change in the direction of the run- 
away, which shoots directly toward them. Ranald 
says, " Good gracious ! " and wonders how it will 
feel to be shot off into the air on his own hook. 

" We must wear or go to smash in two minutes," 
says Mr. Havemeyer ; and with a quick « ord to 
Molly, a sharp, " Hold fast there, forward ! " the 
"Rondina" comes around in a lightning-like sweep. 
Under strong headway, it is an exciting maneuver. 
They watch the threatening stranger, — it also 
seems alive, and thirsting to do them mischief ; it 
plunges viciously at them as their windward runner 
comes down on the ice, and a dexterous turn of the 
rudder just saves the " Rondina " from disaster. 
The runaway yacht shoots furiously past, toward 
the headlands ; we go skimming about since the 
danger is past, and we hear the shock and crash 
with which it brings up on the rocks ashore, and 
the spars go by the board. 

" So much for carelessness," says Mr. Haveme- 
yer, looking severely at the distant and discouraged 




crew. And then they are shooting swiftly back up 
the river to New Hamburgh, which they passed 
long ago. People are walking across the river on 
the ice over the track of the ferries ; there are also 
other yachts skimming about here and there ; chil- 
dren are sliding in the white coves, and, their laugh- 
ter comes, clear and distinct, through the keen air. 

Cold ? No one is cold. Excitement keeps them 
warm. Now back and forth they skim, frighting 
passing teams with their swift, bird-like flights, 
shooting close to the verge of quiet little villages 
stirring under their winter coat of snow. Ah, this 
is indeed flying ! By zigzags and wild stretches 
they come at last in sight once more of the piers, 
and sloops, the black smokes, and clustered houses 
of Poughkeepsie ; and after that, all in a minute, as 
it were, the little cove, the ice-bound pier, and the 
house among the evergreens on the hill salute our 

vision. But now, to "bring to " requires, as Ran- 
ald begins to see, a little more maneuvering than he 
would use in sailing the "Nocturne" in blue 
water. First the "Rondina" flies away to wind- 
ward for a great many lengths ; then she comes 
down with the wind, gradually decreasing in speed, 
until she is fairly in the cove. 

Slowly — slowly — " Dear me," says Ranald ; "I 
would n't believe such a trick as that could ever 
stop her ! " 

There is a slight scrape and jar as Mr. Have- 
meyer sets the rudder sharp across, — to act as a 
brake, — and the swallow's flight is ended. And 
Phil wonders why in the world Molly was n't 
spilled out ; and Ranald declares, as they all walk 
up the snowy path to meet Houghton and young 
Murat, that it is the most exciting experience he 
ever had in his life. 

By C. T. 

" I WONDER," cried Maisy, small and fair. 

On Christmas eve, as the night shut down, 

" How Santa Claus can go everywhere 

And find all the stockings in every town ! " 

My stocking? 1 haven't a stocking," she said. 
" Oh, dear, kind people, please give to me 
For starving Mother a piece of bread ; 
Too weak to rise from her bed is she." 

She skipped from the window lofty and wide, 

And questioning stood at her mother's knee 
In the beautiful light of the fireside, — 
" Mamma, does he ever forget?" asked she. 

They gave her stockings, clothes, food and wine, 
With fuel to burn and candles to cheer, 

And sent her home in a carriage fine, 

Quite dumb and breathless with joy and fear. 

A poor child is begging out there in the storm, 
So cold, Mamma, and so pale and thin ! 

Can't we have her here to get dry and warm? 
And may I tell Bessie to bring her in ? " 

Mamma, Mamma," cried Maisy, small. 

When the child had gone in her dream of bliss. 

She never has hung up a stocking at all ! 
She does n't know, even, who Santa Claus is ! " 

Astonished, the shivering beggar was brought, Then she kneeled on the hearth-stone, "O Santa 

And thankfully stood in the fire-light's glow 
While Maisy gazed at her, deep in thought. — 
" Do you hang up your stocking? 1 'd like to 
know ! " 

Claus dear," 
She cried, with her pretty head all in a whirl, 
" You needn't bring anything beautiful here; 
Please takeallmythings to thatpoorlittlegirl ! " 


M A I S Y ' S CHRIS T M A S . 

And Santa Claus heard what she said, and she 

No stocking at all by the fire that night. 
But up in the morning rejoicing she sprung. 
Herself like the sunshine, so cheerful and 
bri eht. 

Not a trace of a present hy bed 
or by fire ! 
The good saint had taken her 
quite at her word ; 
And Maisy sweet, having 

had her desire, ^ .' . 

Set up her old play- ( -iT'J - r^ 
things, as 

blithe as a ^ '■.» 

She played till 

t was tnne Er ^ 
to the church 

to go ; 

Then in satin and velvet 
and fur and plume, 
The mother and daughter 
tripped over the 

With red lips ^ 
smiling and 
cheeks aliloom. 

And after the service was o\-er, 
and out 
The people poured from the 
portal wide ; 
Her playmates round Maisy pressed 
about, — 
And " What did you get m your 
stocking?" thev cried. 

Then answered our Maisy sweet 

and small, 
While her color grew to a deeper red, 
What did j'i>// get ? / got nothing at all ! " 
"Nothing! She must have been naughty!" 

they said. 

That moment, a beautiful sound in the air ! 

The blast of a horn, so clear and loud 
That it caused all the people to start and 
stare ! — 

And a horseman dashed swift past the wait- 
ing crowd. 

And up to Maisy where she stood, 

A little apart from the rest, he spurred ; 

Dismounted as quickly as ever he could, 
And bowed to the ground ere lie uttered a word. 

Such a splendid messenger, plumed and curled. 
Booted and spurred, with a sword so grand ! 
There never was such a surprise in the 
world ; 

And what do you think he held in his hand 

Tied up with ril^bons? — Such trin- 
kets and toys, 
(Oh, the snow-birds Hut- N^.-/^ ^3*' '"^'Sd 
til liear the news !) 

A music-box, and 
of joys. 
And the dearest 


dolly, witli pointed shoes ! 

Good Santa Claus sent me," he said, and he 

'• To bring you some presents and wish you 
delight ; 

He did what you asked for the poor little child, 
But it made him too late for your stocking 
last night ! " 


M I K K E L . 



By Hjai.mar H. Boyesen. 

For about four months all went well at the 
parsonage. So long as Mikkel was confined 
in the stable he behaved himself with perfect 
propriety, and, occasionally, when he was (by 
special permission) taken into the house to play 
with the children, he won golden opinions for 
himself by his cunning tricks, and became, in fact, 
a great favorite in the nursery. When the spring 
came and the sun grew warm, his kennel was, at 
Thor's request, moved out into the yard, where 
he could have the benefit of the fine spring 
weather. There he could be seen daily lying 
in the sun, with half-closed eyes, resting his head 
on his paws, seeming too drowsy and comfortable 
to take notice of anything. The geese and hens, 
which were at first a trifle suspicious, gradually 
grew accustomed to his presence, and often 
strayed within range of jVIikkel's chain, and even 
within reach of his paws; but it always happened 
that on such occasions either the pastor or his 
wife \\as near, and Mikkel knew enough to be 
aware that goose was forbidden fruit. But one 
day (it was just after dinner, when the pastor was 
taking his nap), it happened that a great fat gan- 
der, prompted by a pardonable curiosity, stretched 
his neck a little too far toward the sleeping Mik- 
kel ; when, quick as a wink and wide-awake, 
Mr. Mikkel jumped up, and before he knew it, the 
gander found himself minus his head. Very 
cautiously the culprit peered about, and seeing 
no one near, he rapidly dug a hole under his 
kennel and concealed his victim there, covering 
it well with earth, until a more favorable oppor- 
tunity should present itself for making a meal of 
it. Then he lay down, and stretched himself 
in the sun as before, and seemed too sleepy even 
to open his eyes; and when, on the following 
day, the gander was missed, the innocent de- 
meanor of Mikkel so completely imposed upon 
every one, that he was not even suspected. Not 
even when the second and the third goose disap- 
peared could any reasonable charge be brought 
against Mikkel. 

When the summer vacation came, however, 
the even tenor of Mikkel's existence was rudely 
interrupted b\- the arrival of the parson's oldest 
son, Finn, who was a student in Christiana, and 
his dog Achilles. Achilles was a handsome 
brown pointer, that, having been brought up in 
the city, had never been accustomed to look 
upon the fox as a domestic animal. He, there- 

fore, spent much of his time in harassing Mikkel, 
making sudden rushes for him when he thought 
hiin asleep ; but always returning from these ex- 
ploits shamefaced and discomfited, for Mikkel 
was always a great deal too clever to be taken by 
surprise. He would lie perfectly still until Achilles 
was within a foot of him, and then, with remark- 
able alertness, he would slip into the kennel, 
through his door, where the dog's size would not 
permit him to follow; and the moment his enemy 
turned his tail to him, Mikkel's face would appear, 
bland and smiling, at the door, as if to say : 

" Good-bye ! Call again whenever you feel like 
it. Now, don't you wish you were as clever 
as I am ? " 

And yet in spite of his daily defeats, Achilles 
could never convince himself that his assaults 
upon Mikkel brought him no glory. Perhaps his 
master, who did not like Mikkel any too well, 
encouraged him in his enmity, for it is certain 
that the assaults grew fiercer daily. And at last, 
one day when the young student was standing in 
the yard, holding his dog by the collar while 
exciting him against the half-sleeping fox, Achilles 
ran with such force against the kennel that he 
upset it. Alas ! For then the evidence of Mikkel's 
misdemeanors came to light. From the door- 
hole of the rolling kennel a heap of goose- 
feathers flew out, and were scattered in the air; 
and, what was worse, a little " dug-out" became 
visible, filled with bones and bills and other in- 
digestible articles, unmistakably belonging to the 
goose's anatomy. Mikkel, who was too wise to 
leave the kennel so long as it was in motion, now 
peeped cautiously out, and he took in the situa- 
tion at a glance. Mr. Finn, the student, who 
thought that Mikkel's skin would look charming 
as a rug before his fire-place in the city, was 
overjoyed to find out what a rascal this innocent- 
looking creature had been ; for he knew well 
enough that his father would now no longer 
oppose his desire for the crafty little creature's 
skin. So he went into the house, loaded his rifle, 
and prepared himself as executioner. 

But at that very moment, Thor chanced to be 
coming home from an errand ; and he had hardly 
entered the yard, when he sniffed danger in the 
air. He knew, without asking, that Mikkel's doom 
was sealed. For the parson was a great poultry- 
fancier and was said to be more interested in his 
ganders than he was in his children. Therefore, 

-885. J 



«v.thout waking for furthei- deve'ircnts, Thor hif dotIes1n'\' bond)"' '^'Vf ^KS'-^^-'-' 
unhooked Mikkel's chain, lifted the culpri in his o es aj from the hou;" " t H f 

a™s.andsi,pped hi. into the bosom oLs waist- M^^^'^^iz;!;- ;;::::e::^h:nSh,^ldi:;: 




for Mikkel in the barns and stables, Thor was 
hurrying away over the fields, every now and 
then glancing anxiously behind him, and nearly 
smothering Mikkel in his efforts to keep him con- 
cealed, lest Achilles should catch his scent. But 
Mikkel had his own views on that subject, and 
was not to be suppressed ; and just as his master 
was congratulating himself on their happy escape, 
they heard the deep baying of a dog, and saw 
Achilles, followed by the student with his gun, 
tracking them in fierce pursuit. Thor, whose 
only hope was to reach the fiord, redoubled his 
speed, skipped across fences, walls, and stiles, 
and ran so fast that earth and stones seemed to 
be flying in the other direction. Yet Achilles's 
baying was coming nearer and nearer, and was 
hardly twenty feet distant by the time the boy 
had flung himself into a boat, and with four vig- 
orous oar-strokes had shot out into the water. 
The dog leaped after hiin, but was soon beyond 
his depth, and the high breakers flung him back 
upon the beach. 

"Comeback at once," cried Finn, imperiously. 
"It is not your boat. If you don't obey, I '11 
have you arrested." 

Thor did not answer, but rowed with all his 

" If you take another stroke," shouted the stu- 
dent furiously, leveling his gun, " I '11 shoot both 
you and your thievish fox." 

It was meant only for intimidation ; but where 
Mikkel's life was at stake, Thor was not easily 

" Shoot away," he cried, thinking that he was 
now at a safe distance, and that the student's marks- 
manship was none of the best. But before he 
realized what he had said, whiz ! went a bullet o\'cr 
his head. A stiff gale was blowing, and the lit- 
tle boat was tossed like a foot-ball on the incom- 
ing and the outgoing waves ; but the plucky lad 
struggled on bravely, until he hove alongside a 
fishing schooner, which was to sail the next morn- 
ing for Drontheim. Fortunately the skipper needed 
a deck hand, and Thor was promptly engaged. 
The boat which had helped him to escape was 
found later and towed back to shore by a fisher- 



In Drontheim, which is a large commercial city 
on the western coast of Norway, Thor soon found 
occupation as office-boy in a bank, which did busi- 
ness under the name of C. P. Lyng & Co. He was 
a boy of an open, fearless countenance, and with a 

frank and winning manner. Mr. Lyng, at the 
time when Thor entered his employ, had just 
separated from his partner, Mr. Tulstrup, because 
the latter had defrauded the firm and several of its 
customers. Mr. Lyng had papers in his safe which 
proved Mr. Tulstrup's guilt, but he had contented 
himself with dismissing him from the firm, and 
had allowed him to take the share of the firm's 
property to which he was legally entitled. The 
settlement, however, had notsatisfied Mr. Tulstrup, 
and he had, in order to revenge himself, gone 
about to the various customers, whom he had him- 
self defrauded, and persuaded them to commence 
suit against Mr. Lyng, whom he represented as being 
the guilty party. He did not at that time know 
that Mr. Lyng had gained possession of the papers 
which revealed the real authors of the fraud. On the 
contrary, he flattered himself that he had destroyed 
every trace of his own fraudulent transactions. 

The fact that Mr. Lyng belonged to a family 
which had always been distingiushed in busi- 
ness and social circles for its integrity and honor 
only whetted Tulstrup's desire to destroy his 
good name, and having laid his plans carefully, he 
anticipated an easy triumph over honest Mr. 
Lyng. His dismay, therefore, was very great 
when, after the suit had been commenced in the 
courts, he learned that it was his own name and 
liberty which were in danger, and not those of 
his former partner. Mr. Tulstrup, in spite of the 
position he had occupied, was a desperate man, and 
was capable, under such circumstances, of resorting 
to desperate remedies. But, like most Norwegians, 
he had a streak of superstition in his nature, and 
cherished an absurd belief in signs and omens, in 
lucky and unlucky days, and in specters and appa- 
ritions, foreboding death ordisaster. Mr. Tulstrup's 
father had believed in such things, and it had been 
currently reported among the peasantry that he had 
been followed by a spectral fox, which some asserted 
to be his wraith, or double. This fox, it was said, 
had frequently been seen during the old man's life- 
time, and when he once saw it himself he was 
frightened nearly out of his wits. Superstitious 
stories of this kind are so common in Norway 
that one can hardly spend a month in any country 
district without hearing dozens of them. The 
belief in a fylgia, or wraith in the shape of an 
animal, dates far back into antiquity, and figures 
largely in the sagas, or ancient legends of the 

It has already been told that Thor had obtained 
a position as office-boy in Mr. Lyng's bank ; and it 
was more owing to the boy's winning appearance 
than to any fondness for foxes on Mr. Lyng's part, 
that Mikkel also was engaged. It was arranged 
that a cushion whereupon Mikkel might sleep 



should be put behind the stove in the back office. 
At first Mikkel endured his captivity here with 
great fortitude ; but he did not like it, and it was 
plain that he was pining for the parsonage and his 
kennel in the free air, and the pleasant compan- 
ionship of the geese, and the stupid Achilles. 
Thor then obtained permission to have him walk 
about unchained, and the clerks, who admired his 
graceful form and dainty ways, soon grew very 
fond of him, and stroked him caressingly, as he 
promenaded along the counter, or seated himself 

them, can not afford the luxury of giving way to 

C. P. Lyng & Go's bank was a solid, old-fash- 
ioned business house which the clerks entered as 
boys and where they remained all their lives. Mr. 
Barth, the cashier, had occupied his present desk 
for twenty-one years and had spent nine years more 
in inferior positions. He was now a stout little 
man of fifty, with close-cropped, highly respect- 
able side-whiskers and thin gra)' hair, which was 
made to cox'cr his crown b)- the aid of a small 

l;i.HA'. AMI A }tALil Ol 

on their shoulders, inspecting their accounts with 
critical eyes. Thor was very happy to see his 
friend petted, though he had an occasional twinge 
of jealousy when Mikkel made himself too agree- 
able to old Mr. Barth, the cashier, or kissed young 
Mr. Dreyer, the assistant book-keeper. Such faith- 
lessness on Mikkel's part was an ill return for all 
the sacrifices Thor had made for him ; and yet, 
hard as it was, it had to be borne. For an office- 
boy can not afford to have emotions, or, if he has 


comb. This comb, wliich was fixed abo\'e his 
right ear and held the straggling locks together, 
was a source of great amusement to the clerks, who 
made no end of witticisms about it. But Mr. Barth 
troubled himself very little about their poor puns, 
and sat serenely poring over his books and packages 
of bank-bills fnun morning till night. Ho prided 
himself above all on his regularity, and it was said 
that he had never been one minute too late or too 
earlv during the thirtv vears he had been in Mr. 




Lyng's bank ; accordingly, he had little patience 
with the shortcomings of his subordinates, and 
fined and punished them in various ways, if they 
were but a moment tardy ; for the most atrocious 
of all crimes, in Mr. Earth's opinion, was tardi- 
ness. The man who suffered most from his sever- 
ity was Air. Dreyer, the assistant book-keeper. 
Mr. Dreyer was a good-looking young man, 
and very fond of society ; and it happened some- 
times that, on the morning after a ball, he would 
sleep rather late. He had long rebelled in 
silence against Mr. Barth's tyranny, and when he 
found that his dissatisfaction was shared by many 
of the other clerks, he conceived a plan to re- 
venge himself on his persecutor. To this end a 
conspiracy was formed among the younger clerl*, 
and it was determined to make Mikkel the agent 
of their vengeance. 

It was well known by the clerks that j\Ir. 
Barth was superstitious and afraid in the dark ; 
and it was generally agreed that it would be capi- 
tal fun to give him a little fright. Accordingly the 
following plan was adopted : a bottle of the oil of 
phosphorus was procured and Mikkel's fur was 
thoroughly rubbed with it, so that in the dark the 
whole animal would be luminous. At five minutes 
before five, some one should go down in the cel- 
lar and turn off the gas, just as the cashier was 
about to enter the back office to lock up the safe. 
Then, when the illuminated Mikkel glared out on 
him from a dark corner, he would probably shout 
or faint or cry out, and then all the clerks 
should rush sympathetically to him and render 
him every assistance. 

Thus the plan was laid, and there was a breath- 
less, excited stillness in the bank when the hour 
of five approached. It had been dark for two 
hours, and the clerks sat on their high stools, bend- 
ing silently over their desks, scribbling away for 
dear life. Promptly at seven minutes before five, 
uprose Mr. Barth and gave the signal to have the 
books closed ; then, to the unutterable astonishment 
of the conspirators, he handed the key of the safe 
to Mr. Dreyer (who knew the combination), and 
told him to lock the safe and return the key. At 
that very instant, out went the gas ; and Mr. Dreyer, 
although he was well prepared, could himself 
hardly master his fright at Mikkel's frightful ap- 
pearance. He struck a match, lighted a wax 
taper (which was used for sealing letters), and 
tremblingly locked the safe ; then, abashed and 
discomfited, he advanced to the cashier's desk 
and handed him the key. 

"Perhaps, you would have the kindness, Mr. 
Dreyer," said Mr. Barth calmly, " to write a letter 
of complaint to the gas company before you go 
home. It will never do in the world to have such 

things happen. 1 suppose there must be water in 
the pipes." 

The old man buttoned his overcoat up to his 
chin and marched out ; whereupon a shout of 
laughter burst forth, in which Mr. Dreyer did not 
join. He could not see what they found to laugh 
at, he said. It took him a long while to compose 
his letter of complaint to the gas company. 

Mikkel in the meanwhile was feeling very un- 
comfortable. He could not help marveling at his 
extraordinary appearance. He rubbed himself 
against chairs and tables and found to his aston- 
ishment that he made everything luminous that 
he touched. He had never known any respectable 
fox which possessed this accomplishment, and he 
felt sure that in some way something was wrong 
with him. He could not sleep, but walked rest- 
lessly about on the desks and counters, bristled 
with anger at the slightest sound, and was miser- 
able and excited. He could not tell how far the 
night had advanced when he heard a noise in the 
back office (which fronted upon the court-yard) as 
if a window were being opened. His curiosity was 
aroused and he walked sedately across the floor; 
then he stopped for a moment to compose himself, 
for he was well aware that what he saw w-as some- 
thing extraordinary. A man with a dark-lantern 
in his hand was kneeling before the safe with a 
key in his hand. Mikkel advanced a Uttle further 
and paused in a threatening attitude on the thresh- 
old of the door. With his luminous face and body, 
and a halo of phosphorescent light round about him, 
he was terrible to behold. He gave a little snort, 
at which the man turned quickly about. But no 
sooner had he caught sight of the illuminated Mik- 
kel than he flung himself on his knees before the 
little animal, and with clasped hands and a coun- 
tenance wild with fear exclaimed : " O, I know who 
thou art ! Pardon me, pardon me ! Thou art my 
father's spectral fox ! I know thee, I know thee ! " 

Mikkel had never suspected that he was any- 
thing so terrible ; but, as he saw that the man was 
bent on mischief, he did not think it worth while 
to contradict him. He only curved his back and 
bristled, until the man, beside himself with terror, 
made a rush for the window and leaped out into 
the court-yard. Then Alikkel, thinking that he 
had had excitement enough for one night, curled 
himself up on his cushion behind the stove and 
went to sleep. 

The next morning, when Mr. Barth arrived, he 
found a window in the back office broken, and the 
door of the safe wide open. On the floor lay a 
bundle of papers, all relating to the transactions 
of Tulstrup while a member of the firm, and, 
moreover, a hat, marked on the inside with 
Tulstrup's name, was found on a chair. 


M I K K E L . 


On the same day, Mr. Lyng was summoned to 
the bedside of his former partner, who made a 
full confession, and offered to return through him 
the money which he had fraudulently acquired. 
His leg was broken and he seemed otherwise shat- 
tered in body and mind. It had been his purpose, 
he said, to drive Mr. Lyng from the firm in dis- 
grace, and he was sure he could have accomplished 
it, if Providence itself had not interfered. But, 
incredible as it seemed, he had seen a luminous 
animal in the bank, and he felt convinced that it 
was his father's spectral fox. It was well enough 
to smile at such things and call them childish ; 
but he had certainly seen, he said, a wonderful, 
shining fox. 

Mr. Lyng did not attempt to convince Mr. Tul- 
strup that he was wrong. He took the money and 
distributed it among those who had suffered by 

Mr. Tulstrup's frauds, and thus many needy 
people — widows and industrious laborers — re- 
gained their hard-earned property, and all because 
Mikkel's skin was luminous. When Mr. Lyng 
heard the whole story from Mr. Dreyer, he laughed 
heartily and long. But from that day he took a 
warm interest in Thor and his fox, and sent the 
former to school and later to the university, where 
he made an honorable name for himself by his 
talents and industry. 

Poor Mikkel is now almost gray, and his teeth 
are so blunt that he has to have his food minced 
before he can eat it. But he still occupies a soft 
rug behind the stove in the student's room, and 
Thor hopes he will live long enough to be intro- 
duced to his master's wife. For it would be a pity 
if she were not to know him to whom her husband 
owes his position, and she, accordingly, hers. 

(^ust see tbe coa^t; tb^-t 1 b^ve onl 
It used to fit np/ Uncle olobr?; 

fie W6.S n7y ©ra^ndn^eOs hpJoy^&rj^ 
V'vthe^ too h'l^ to be 6.^5.119; 
His j^re6.l3 bij^ co6.t isble^ck 6.17^ neW, 
And' t9ii?e^ou see is old ^.^d blue, 
AT7d npucb fS)e j^reDtier of ^etwo, 
Tbis funny co^ ** 
Ay Uncle (^obt?. 

0=0=0 c^^o ^j^*^ ' ^"^^ 

Fbey S6.y its bea^utjtully n)£>.^e. 
And lined wi|t? lovely wbite 

Buttbat is oi?ly ve>.nity; 

Ar]i its this fJocKet li^i-t yo u see 
T^i(^bt bere ir? front, 
ybrs ut7der.5ta.T7d, 
where I C6.n blwc^ys . 
Put r^ybe-nds 

,tli^^ ^redt r^d^jooleon, 

Tbsliwbyl let$en7 put it 09 
Tb)is aueer old coa,"tof Uncle 



By Eleanor Putnam. 

Of course her name was not really Fanchon, 
for she was a real little American girl, and proud 
enough to be one, too. But very early in her career, 
it became evident that Frances was far too stately 
a name for the little yellow-haired damsel ; and 
Fanny was ordinary, and Aunt Maria disapproved 
of ordinary names ; and Frank was masculine, and 
Papa abominated anything masculine about a 
woman ; so when Uncle Bob, just returned from 
Paris, called the pretty fairy " Fanchon," the fam- 
ily took it up at once, and Fanchon she was and 
is and will be to the end of the chapter. 

They all were upstairs in Fanchon's pretty 
parlor one winter afternoon : Helen Lawrence, 
Catherine Motte, and Amy Van Home, Eleanor 
Bowditch, Jessica Cabot, and Fanchon herself, all 
six of them intimate, particular and bosom friends 
from their kindergarten days. 

"Four o'clock," said Jessie Cabot, "and all 
done at last ; but how we have worked, girls ! " 

Jessie Cabot was as lazy as a luxurious yellow 
kitten, and looked not so very unlike one, as she 
nestled in her low chair by the fire, with her round 
little face, sleepy eyes, and fuzzy lemon-colored hair. 

" You all have worked like Trojans," said the 
pretty hostess Fanchon. "1 could never have 
done it all without you." 

She was pouring chocolate from the most 
charming turquoise blue pot ever seen, and the 
girls were sitting about in various graceful atti- 
tudes, resting from their labor, and refreshing 
themselves with a nourishing repast of macaroons, 
lady's-fingers, and bonbons. 

The " work" lay on a broad, low table by the 
window, — such a heap of brilliant, useless things ! 

Coquettish httle slippers of gold and silver; 
shining fish and birds ; delicate butterflies with 
glittering wings ; fairy trunks of pink satin and 
portmanteaux of blue silk; rose-colored glasses; 
ivory canes ; silver pipes and golden umbrellas, — 
everything that was frail and useless and extrava- 
gant. In short, these were the favors for Fanchon's 
german, and the girls had been working like 
bees, filling the fanciful boiihonnihrs, putting 
ribbons on the ribbonlcss, writing the character 
cards, and dividing the masculine favors from the 

" Four days to wait, girls ; wont it seem like an 
age ! " said Catherine IMotte, a curly haired, gray- 
eyed elf. As she spoke, she waltzed slowly down 
the room and stopped by a window. 

" Arthur Winslow dances as slowly as that," she 
said. " I like to dance with Will Everett ever so 
much better ; he goes like the wind. 1 do like to 
dance rapidly." 

" I don't," drawled Jessie Cabot; "the slower 
the better for me." 

" I should like to go to a german every single 
evening," announced Helen Lawrence, nibbling 
a macaroon. "Let's see; four days. Sunday, 
Monday, — positively, girls, nothing but cooking- 
class, the Stanleys' musicale, and the matinee on 
Wednesday. Not a step of dancing until Fan- 
chon's german. How can we wait? " 

" What music shall you have, Fanchon ? " asked 
Amy Van Horne ; "shall you have 'Brimmer's 

" Papa has promised me Snaphausen," replied 
Fanchon, demurely, though her dimples would 
show a bit, for very joy. 

Who would n't be glad to have Snaphausen and 
his wonderful men to play for one's german ? Snap- 
hausen, who composed such glorious dance music ; 
who would not play for every one, not he ; who 
needed coaxing and teasing, not to mention a fee 
of one hundred and fifty good dollars. 

He had nodded his shaggy old head and prom- 
ised to play for Fanchon. No wonder she smiled 
and dimpled. 

There was a perfect chorus of dehght and envy 
from the girls. 

" Snaphausen ! That lovely Hulbert Snap- 
hausen, and all his men ! " 

" Fanchon, you spoilt child ! " 

" You lucky girl ! " 

"Is there anything that Fanchon's father will 
not do for her ? " 

" O, Fanchon, you '11 throw my poor little ger- 
man into the shade, indeed ! " 

"Mine, too; let me hide my diminished head 
somewhere. 1 was so puffed up with my ' Brim- 
mer's Six.' " 

"Well, girls," said Fanchon, making herself 
heard with difficulty. "You know. Papa always 
promised me a nice coming-out party." 

But though she tried to be modest, Fanchon 
knew, and the rest knew, that though they were 
friends, these bosom six, there was a bit of rivalry 
among them in regard to these first parties of theirs. 
It was their first society winter, for they had left 
Miss Leighton's school only the June before. 

" How lovely it will be ! " sighed Eleanor Bow- 




ditch, in rapture. She was sitting in the window 
seat, apparently absorbed in admiring her ex- 
quisite, steel-embroidered slippers. Presently she 

" O, Fanchon," she said, " here is a horrid 
little beggar going to play something dreadful on 
a violin. She 's looking up here ; shall I shake my 
head ? " 

" Why, no," said Fanchon, going idly up to the 
window ; "let her play. I don't mind. Do you ? " 

" Cover your ears," cried Eleanor, who was 
musical and sang like a lark ; " cover your ears, 
girls. Prepare for ' Silver Threads Among the 
Gold ! ' " 

The player, a poor pinched creature with eyes 
of unnatural size, glanced up at the house, rested 
her chin on her poor violin, and began to play. 

It was not " Silver Threads Among the Gold," 
but a plaintive, simple little air, quite new to the 
hearers. Almost a wail it was, and seemed to ex- 
press in music such cold and hunger and desola- 
tion, that the pretty smiling group at the upper 
window became quite sober all at once. 

As soon, however, as the sad air came to an 
end, the player's face brightened, she tuned her 
violin, and suddenly swept into a swinging waltz, 
so gay and so entrancing, that Amy and Catherine 
seized each other and whirled madly away quite to 
the other end of the room. 

"How can she play so well ? Where did she 
learn ? And on such a poor violin ! " e.xcluimed 
Helen Lawrence. 

"How dreadfully cold she must be !" exclaimed 
Jessie Cabot, with a shudder. 

It was indeed a bitter day, with an eager, pene- 
trating wind, which cared not a snap for the cotton 
gown and thin little shawl of the poor musician. 

"Excuse me just a minute, girls," said Fan- 
chon ; " I 'm going down." 

The girls declared that it was nearly dinner- 
time, and they must be going, so they trooped 
across the hall to Fanchon's chamber. 

Fanchon ran downstairs to give some small coins 
to the little player. As she opened the door, a 
keen blast rushed in, leaving her almost breathless. 

"How horrible ! " said Fanchon ; " I should think 
she would die. She shall be warm for once, any- 
how," and she sent her around to the kitchen. 

Down the broad stairs came the girls, as charm- 
ing as pinks and roses, smiling and comely in their 
sealskin, and plush, and velvet, and nodding 
plumes. What did they care for the wind? He 
might blow twice as fiercely as now, and they 
would still he warm and rosy. 

"Thursday night!" they called out gayly. 
" Good-bye, Fanchon ; remember the german ! " 

Fanchon smiled and nodded. The stony-faced 

footman closed the door, and Fanchon paced the 
hall a minute, with her forehead puckered into a 

" It was just one of my crazy performances," 
she said. " Now that I have got her in, 1 don't 
know what to do with her, 1 'm sure, and Helen is 
waiting upstairs. I'll ask Aunt Maria if — no, 
Aunt IVIaria has the 'Associated Charities ' in the 
parlor, and can not be bothered by a beggar. 
There ! I must go dow n and see her myself I 
can give her my old ulster, if I can't do anything 

Fifteen minutes later, Fanchon came up into the 
little parlor where Helen Lawrence was waiting. 

" I 'm afraid you '11 never forgive me, dear," she 
said breathlessly, " for leaving you so long. I 
know I 'm horribly rude." 

" I believe I was almost asleep," replied Helen, 
drowsily. " The wind and the fire make me stupid. 
What is it ? Have the girls just gone ? " 

" O, no," said Fanchon ; " they went long ago. 
I was downstairs talking with that Italian girl. 
Do you remember the man who was killed last 
month in the elevator at W arner's ? This is his 
daughter ; and the Warners never have done a 
thing for her, and her mother is dead, too ! " 

" I remember," answered Helen, yawning, 
" Papa said the Warners behaved badly about 
that ; but Bennett has had new horses this year, 
and Kate and Julia have gone abroad, so I suppose 
they feel rather poor." 

"But what will become of the girl?" asked 

"That's a conundrum," returned Helen, light- 
ly; " there are so many such people, you know." 

She knelt down on the rug and began to feed 
Psyche, the silken-eared King Charles spaniel, 
with bits of macaroon. 

Fanchon's heart gave a swift little throb of 
doubt. They came rather often, these throbs, 
when she talked with Helen. Fanchon was so 
proud of her. She was such a brilliant and 
beautiful Helen, such a queen among the girls ; 
and then — she was Jack Lawrence's sister. Fan- 
chon did wish to believe Helen quite perfect, and 
yet — sometimes 

Fanchon's eyes roved almost guiltily about the 

Such a dear, little, frivolous room ; all blue and 
ash and silver ; with silky white rugs ; distracting 
cabinets of bronze and china and carved ivory, 
sent home from China by Uncle Bob ; her own 
piano ; her dainty desk, her beloved books and 
pictures — then — //iii/ girL The picture of the 
little girl would keep coming up in her mind. 

" She slept in a hogshead on India wharf one 
night, Nell," said Fanchon aloud, at last. 




"Who did?" asked Helen, trying to induce 
Psyche to beg. 

" That ItaHan girl. Carlotta, her name is." 

"O !" said Helen. "Psyche, you witch, beg, 
or you shall not have it." 

" There 's an institute at Bingham," began 
Fanchon, "a sort of home for girls. You pay a 
hundred dollars, and that admits one girl ; and she 
is kept and taught until she can earn her own liv- 
ing. They teach cooking and needle-work and 
everything useful. Aunt Maria is a trustee." 

" What a horrible place !" said Helen devoutly. 
"Fanchon, dear, your favors are just perfect. 
They never cost less than thirty dollars, you ex- 
travagant little sinner. And then Snaphausen ! 
Your party will outshine all the others. Is n't it 
nearly dinner-time ? Let 's go into your room 
and brush our bangs." 

It snowed the next day, and the wind blew in 
stormy gusts, driving the white flakes in sheets 
before it. 

Fanchon could not go to church. She stood by 
the window and watched the storm ; she teased the 
sleepy dog ; she wandered restlessly about the 
house from room to room. 

" I can not do it," she said, stopping and resting 
her arms on the low mantel in her own parlor. 
" Why should 1 do it ? It is my birthday, and Papa 
is willing. What would the girls say? I told 
them yesterday I should have Snaphausen. How 
strange they will think it ! And then perhaps 
it is too late, anyway. Snaphausen may make 
us pay just the same, if we break our engagement. 
I do not believe Papa can find him another for that 
same evening. Oh, dear ! " 

She looked a moment in gloomy silence at the 
cupid that, in a gilded swing, pretended to be the 
pendulum of her little mantel- clock. 

It was to be her first " real grown-up party." 
Jessie Cabot had given the opening german of the 
season, and had lovely silver filagree bouciuet- 
holders and boutonnih-es for favors. 

Amy Van Horne had followed with " Brimmer's 
Six," quite eclipsing Jessie's two violins and piano. 
Now it was Fanchon's turn, and she had it in her 
power to eclipse them all with the great Snap- 
hausen himself, and garlands of hon siletie rose- 
buds, instead of ribbons, for the ribbon figure, — 
her own dainty device. 

Could she, — should she give it all up ? No, it was 
really too hard ; she could not do it. What could 
she say to the girls and Helen ? 

Then Jack Lawrence would say she was odd, as 
he did when she picked up the scattered corn-balls 
for the old woman on the Common. She could not 
bear to have Jack Lawrence call her odd again. 
There was Aunt Maria ; and Aunt Maria would 

call her a strange child, and wonder what 
"our set" would say. Then Papa, — who knew 
whether he approved, or thought her silly and 
quixotic, when he said, " Do just as you please," 
with that, queer twinkle in his eye ? After all, 
there were people enough to help the Itahan. 
Why should Fanchon care ? — she was not respon- 

And just then, by some strange chance, there 
flashed through Fanchon's mind that old bitter 
question, the question of Cain before the Lord, 
"Am 1 my brother's keeper?" Fanchon sat 
down upon the silky rug, laid her head upon a 
chair-cushion, and cried with hearty good-will. 

Such a pretty picture as it was ! The long, 
well-lighted room, with the candles reflected in 
twinkles and sparkles in the beautiful polished 
floor ; the bank of palms and ferns which filled the 
window at the end ; the pretty girls in filmy gowns 
of white and rose and blue ; and, flying lightly 
down the middle of the floor, six blithe young 
couples whirhng away with merry feet to the sound 
of the Morgcnblatter waltz. 

It was a very good waltz and well played, with 
plenty of swing and verve to it to set the young 
pulses beating and the young feet flying, but it 
was not Snaphausen and his twelve merry men 
who played it. 

It was a thin-faced, dark-eyed Italian girl, in a 
gray gown of Fanchon's. 

She played as if she were bewitched and could 
never stop nor tire. Beside her, at the piano, a young 
man in glasses hammered out the time, in unceas- 
ing one, two, three, after the fashion of the pro- 
fessional accompanist. 

That was all the music. Fanchon's german had 
come to this. Her music was even less than Jessie 
Cabot's, and she was now certain that her party 
would be eclipsed by every other one given by the 
" intimate six," as Jack Lawrence called them. 

Yet, after all, Fanchon did not mind it so much. 

It was certainly unpleasant when Aunt Maria 
said that she hoped " their set " would not call her 
father "money-mean"; and it really made her 
cringe when she saw Minnie Harcourt and Bella 
Douglass raise their eyebrows and exchange signifi- 
cant little smiles when they saw the musicians. 

But it was not so very bad when the first was 
over. Fanchon was so busy with her duties as 
hostess, seeing that plain Susie Boyd did not go 
favorless, and that somebody took pity upon 
Donald McArthur, who was so sadly conscious of his 
feet and hands, that she had no time to think 
upon her own woes. 

Somebody — could it have been Papa ? — had told 
Helen all about it, and Helen had told the girls. 




Amy and Jessie pressed Fanclion's hands in the 
"right and left" figure and whispered that site 
was "just elegant." Helen, her own beautiful 
Helen, beamed upon her and said softly : 

"Fanchon, I wish I were worth half as much as 
one of your little fingers." 


M' - 



1 I 

1 V 

f r 


And Jack Lawrence, that charming Harvard 
sophomore, when he seated her after a breathless, 
delicious whirl, said bluntly, with honest admira- 
tion in his eyes : " You are a trump. Miss 
Fanchon ! I wish there were more girls like you." 

Poor Fanchon flushed as pink as a rose. It was, 
after all, such a very little thing, and how much 
they were all making of it ! Why, some girls would 
never have hesitated an instant, and what a sacri- 
fice she had thought she was making ! 

Just then Jessie Cabot, in gauzy blue tulle, with 

her yellow hair in a flying mist, drew Fanchon 
into the dance, and who could stop to think any 
longer of sacrifices or Italian girls or industrial 
schools, while weaving mystic figures and whirling 
madly down the room with Will Everett, and five 
gay young couples following after ? 

They said afterward, when they 
talked it over, — ''the girls" who 
went to make up F'anchon's little 
, world, — that it was the finest party 
' of the season, the very finest. 

They said it still, after Eleanor 
Bowditch had beautiful monogram 
lockets for favors, and even after 
Catherine iVIotte actually had 
Snaphausen, with a wonderful 
new waltz which he composed 
specially for the occasion. 
Fanchon took none of the 
■f^'^'>.A , credit to herself. She 
(ir / did wish people would 

stop praising her. 
The girl, Car- 
/- ■ ■ lotta, had gone 
to the pleasant 
country school, 
and Fanchon 
would like the 
whole thing to be 
forgotten, and 
never mentioned 

The queerest 
part of the whole 
affair was about old 
Snaphausen. Some 
one had told him why 
Fanchon had given up 
having him, and he had 
nodded gravely and 
answered "So?" He 
-i- had not minded the 

broken engagement, and 
had refused any com- 
pensation for it. 

But at Catherine 
Motte's party he played a new waltz, and Cather- 
ine could not help pluming herself a trifle. It was 
not every girl who had a delicious Snaphausen 
waltz composed all in her honor. 

" What do you call it, Herr Snaphausen ? " 
called out Will Everett, as he swept by with 
Fanchon ; " have you named it yet ? " 

The German beamed above his blinking glasses, 
and nodded his shaggy head. ".-/<"//. yes," he an- 
swered rhythmically, " acJi, ) es ; surely she haf a 
name ; she is called the ' FaiicJioii Waltzen ! ' So ! " 





iA/tcr^LViird Qitccn Elhabctlt of Eft gland ; the " Good Queen 

A. D. 154S. 

The iron-shod hoofs of the big gray courser 
rang sharply on the frozen ground, as, beneath the 
creaking boughs of the long-armed oaks, Launce- 
lot Crue, the Lord Protector's fleetest courser-man, 
galloped across the Hertford fells or hills, and 
reined up his horse within the great gates of 
Hatfield manor-house. 

"From the Lord Protector," he said ; and Master 
Avery Mitchell, the feodary,t »"ho had been closely 
watching for this same courser-man for several 
anxious hours, took from his hands a scroll, on 
vi'hich was inscribed : 

" To Avery Miichcll, fcodary of the Wards in 
Herts, at Hatfield House. From the Lord Pro- 
tector, these : " 

And next, the courser-man, in secrecy, un- 
screwed one of the bullion buttons on his buff 
jerkin, and taking from it a scrap of paper, handed 
this also to the watchful feodary. Then, his mis- 
sion ended, he repaired to the buttery to satisfy 

his lusty English appetite with a big dish of pasty, 
followed by ale and "wardens" (as certain hard 
pears, used chiefly for cooking, were called in 
those days), while the cautious Avery Mitchell, 
unrolling the scrap of paper, read: 

"hi secrecy, these: Under guise of mummers place a half- 
score good men and true in your Yule-ride maskyng. Well armed 
and safely conditioned. They will be there who shall command. 
Look for the green dragon of Wantley. On your allegiance. This 
from ye wit who." 

Scarcely had the feodary read, reread, and 
then destroyed this secret and singular missive, 
when the " Ho ! hollo ! " of Her Grace the Prin- 
cess's outriders rang on the crisp December air, 
and there galloped up to the broad door-way of 
the manor-house a gayly costumed train of lords 
and ladies, with huntsmen and falconers and yeo- 
men following on behind. Central in the group, 
flushed with her hard gallop through the wintry 
air, a young girl of fifteen, tall and trim in figure, 
sat her horse with the easy grace of a practiced 
and confident rider. Her long velvet habit was 
deeply edged with fur, and both kirtle and head- 
gear were of a rich purple tinge, while from be- 
neath the latter just peeped a heavy coil of sunny, 
golden hair. Her face was fresh and fair, as 
should be that of any young girl of fifteen, but 
its expression was rather that of high spirits and 

^' Copyright, 1884, by E. S. Brooks. All rights reserved, 
t An old English term for the guardian of "certain wards of the state," — young persons under guardianship of the government 





of heedless and impetuous moods than of simple 
maidenly beauty. 

" Tilly-vally, my lord," she cried, dropping her 
bridle-rein into the hands of a waiting groom, 
"'twas my race to-day, was it not.'' Odds fish, 
man ! " she called out sharply to the attendant 
groom ; "be yc easier with Roland's bridle there. 
One beast of his gentle mettle were worth a score 

Vol. XII.— 14. 

of clumsy varlets like to you ! Well, said I not right, 
my Lord Admiral ; is not the race fairly mine, I 
ask ? " and, careless in act as in speech, she gave 
the Lord .Admiral's horse, as she spoke, so sharp a 
cut with her riding-whip as to make the big brute 
rear in sudden surprise, and almost unhorse its 
rider, while an unchecked laugh came from its 
fair tormentor. 




"Good faith. Mistress," answered Sir Thomas 
Seymour, the Lord High Admiral, graceftilly swal- 
lowing his exclamation of surprise, "your lady- 
ship hath fairly won, and, sure, hath no call to 
punish both myself and my good Selim here by 
such unwarranted chastisement. Will your grace 
dismount ? " 

And, vaulting from his seat, he gallantly ex- 
tended his hand to help the young girl from her 
horse ; while, on the same instant, another in her 
train, a handsome young fellow of the girl's own 
age, knelt on the frozen ground and held her 

But this independent young maid would ha\e 
none of their courtesies. Ignoring the outstretched 
hands of both the man and boy, she sprang lightly 
from her horse, and, as she did so, with a sly and 
sudden push of her dainty foot, she sent the kneel- 
ing lad sprawling backward, -while her merry peal 
of laughter rang out as an accompaniment to his 

"Without your help, my lords — without your 
help, so please you both," she cried. " Why, 
Dudley," she exclaimed, in mock surprise, as she 
threw a look over her shoulder at the prostrate 
boy, " are you there? Beshrew me, though, you 
do look like one of goodman Roger's Dorking 
cocks in the pultry yonder, so red and ruffled of 
feather do you seem. There, see now, I do repent 
me of my discourtesy. You, Sir Robert, shall 
squire me to the hall, and Lord Seymour must 
even content himself with playing the gallant to 
good Mistress Ashley ; " and, leaning on the arm 
of the now pacified Dudley, the self- willed girl 
tripped lightly up the entrance-steps. Self-willed 
and thoughtless — even rude and hoydenish — we 
may think her in these days of gentler manners 
and more guarded speech. But those were less 
refined and cultured times than these in which we 
live ; and the rough, uncurbed nature of " Kinge 
Henrye the viij. of Most Famous Memorye," as 
the old chronicles term the " blufif King Hal," 
re-appeared to a noticeable extent in the person of 
his second child, the daughter of ill-fated Anne 
Boleyn, "my ladye's grace" the Princess Eliza- 
beth of England. 

And yet we should be readier to excuse this im- 
petuous young Princess of three hundred years ago 
than were even her associates and enemies. For 
enemies she had, poor child, envious and vindic- 
tive ones, who sought to work her harm. Varied 
and unhappy had her young life already been. 
Born amid splendid hopes, in the royal palace 
of Greenwich ; called Elizabeth after that grand- 
mother, the fair heiress of the house of York, whose 
marriage to a prince of the house of Lancaster had 
ended the long and cruel War of the Roses; she 

had been welcomed with the peal of bells and the 
boom of cannons, and christened with all the regal 
ceremonial of King Henry's regal court. Then, 
when scarcely three years old, disgraced by the 
wicked murder of her mother, cast off and repu- 
diated by her brutal father, and only received 
again to favor at the christening of her baby 
brother, passing her childish days in grim old 
castles and a wicked court, — she found herself, at 
thirteen, fatherless as well as motherless, and at 
fifteen cast on her own resources, the sport of 
men's ambitions and of conspirators' scheines. 
To-day the girl of fifteen, tenderly reared, shielded 
from trouble by a mother's watchful love and a 
father's loving care, can know but little of the 
dangers that compassed this Princess of England, 
the lady Elizabeth. Deliberately separated fiom 
her younger brother, the King, by his unwise and 
selfish counselors, hated by her elder sister, the 
lady Mary, as the daughter of the woman who had 
made lier mother's life so miserable, she was, even 
in her manor-home of Hatfield, where she should 
have been most secure, in still greater jeopardy. 
For this same Lord Seymour of Sudleye, who was 
at once Lord High Admiral of England, uncle to 
the King, and brother of Somerset, the Lord Pro- 
tector, had by fair promises and lavish gifts bound 
to his purpose this defenseless girl's only protect- 
ors. Master Parry, her cofterer, or steward, and 
jNIistress Katherine Ashley, her governess. And 
that purpose was to force the young Princess into 
a marriage with himself, so as to help his schemes 
of treason against the Lord Protector and get into 
his own hands the care of the boy King and the 
government of the realm. It was a bold plot, and, 
if unsuccessful, meant attainder and death for high 
treason; but Seymour, ambitious, reckless, and un- 
principled, thought only of his own desires, and 
cared little for the possible ruin into which he was 
dragging the unsuspecting and orphaned daughter 
of the King who had been his ready friend and patron. 

So matters stood at the period of our story, on 
the eve of the Christmas festivities of 1548, as, on 
the arm of her boy escort. Sir Robert Dudley, 
gentleman usher at King Edward's court and, 
years after, the famous Earl of Leicester of Queen 
Elizabeth's day, the royal maiden entered the hall 
of Hatfield House. And, within the great hall, 
she was greeted by Master Parry, her cofferer. 
Master Runyon, her yeoman of the robes, and 
Master Mitchell, the feodar\-. Then, with a low 
obeisance, the feodary presented her the scroll 
which had been brought him, post-haste, by Laun- 
celot Crue, the courser-man. 

"What, good Master Avery," exclaimed Eliza- 
beth, as she ran her eye over the scroll, " you to 
be Lord of Misrule and Master of the Revels ! 




And by my Lord of Somerset's own appointing ? 
I am right glad to learn it." 
And this is what she read : 

"Imprimis*: I give leave to Avery Mitchell, feodary, gentleman, 
to be Lord of Misrule of all good orders, at the Manor of Hatfield, 



during the twelve days of Yule-tide. And, also, I give free leave to 
the said Avery Mitchel to command all and every person or persons 
whatsoever, as well servants as others, to be at his command when- 
soever he shall sound his trumpet or music, and to do him good 
service, as though I were present myself, at their perils. I give full 
power and authority to his lordship to break all locks, bolts, bars, 
doors, and latches to come at all those who presume to disobey his 
lordship's commands. God save the King. So!\ierset. " 

It was Christmas Eve. The great hall of Hat- 
field House gleamed with the light of many 
candles that flashed upon sconce and armor and 
polished floor. Holly and mistletoe, rosemary and 
bay, and all the decorations of an old-time Eng- 
lish Christmas were tastefully 
arranged. A burst of laughter 
rang through the hall, 
as through the ample 
door-way, and down the 
broad stair, trooped the 
motley train of the Lord 
of Misrule to open the 
Christmas revels. A fierce 
and ferocious looking fel- 
low was he, with his great 
green mustache and his 
ogre-like face. His dress 
was a gorgeous parti-col- 
ored jerkin and half-hose, 
trunks, ruff, slouch-boots 
of Cordova leather, and 
high befeathered steeple 
liat. His long staff, top- 
ped with a fool's head, 
cap and bells, rang loud- 
ly on the floor^ as, pre- 
ceded by his diminutive 
but pompous page, he 
led his train around and 
around the great hall, 
lustily singing the cho- 
rus : 

'* Like Prince and King he leads 
the ring : 
Right merrily we go. Sing 
hey-tri,\, trim-go-tri.\. 
Under the mistletoe! 

A menagerie let loose 
or the most dyspeptic of 
after-dinner dreams could 
not be more bewildering 
than was this motley train 
of the Lord of Misrule. 
Giants and dwarfs, drag- 
ons and griffins, hobby- 
horses and goblins, Robin 
llood and the Grand 
Turk, bears and boars 
and fantastic animals that 
never had a name, boys 
and girls, men and women, in every imaginable 
costume and device — around and around the hall 
they went, still ringing out the chorus : 

" Sing hey-trix, trim-go-tri.\, 
Under the mistletoe ! " 

Then, standing in the center of his court, the 

' A Latin term signif>Tng '* in the first place," or "to commence with," and used as the opening of legal or official directions. 




Lord of Misrule Ijade his herald declare that from 
Christmas Eve to Twelfth Night he was Lord 
Supreme ; that, with his magic art, he transformed 
all there into children, and charged them, on their 
fealty, to act only as such. " I absolve them all 
from wisdom," he said ; " I bid them be just wise 
enough to make fools of themselves, and do decree 
that none shall sit apart in pride and eke in self- 
sufficiency to laugh at others ; " and then the fun 

Off in stately Whitehall, in the palace of the 
boy King, her brother, the revels were grander and 
showier ; but to the young Elizabeth, not yet 
skilled in all the stiffness of the royal court, the 
Yule-tide feast at Hatfield House brought pleasure 
enough ; and so, seated at her holly-trimmed vir- 
ginal, — that great-great-grandfather of the piano 
of to-day, — she, whose rare skill as a musician has 
come down to us, would — when wearied with her 
" prankes and japes" — "tap through " some fitting 
Christmas carol, or that older lay of the Yule-tide 
" Mumming " . 

" To shorten winter's sadness see where the folk with gladness, 
Disguised, are all a-coming, right wantonly a-mumming, 

Fa-la ! 

"Whilst youthful sports are lasting, to feasting turn our fasting: 
With revels and with wassails make grief and care our vassals, 

Fa-la! " 

The Yule-log had been noisily dragged in "to 
the firing," and as the big sparks raced up the 
wide chimney, the boar's head and the tankard of 
sack, the great Christmas candle and the Christmas 
pie, were escorted around the room to the flourish 
of trumpets and with welcoming shouts ; the Lord 
of Misrule, with a wave of his staff, was about to 
give the order for all to unmask, when suddenly 
there appeared in the circle a new character — a 
great green dragon, as fierce and ferocious as well 
could be, from his pasteboard jaws to his curling 
canvas tail. The green dragon of Wantley ! Ter- 
rified urchins backed hastily away from his horrible 
jaws, and the Lord of Misrule gave a sudden and 
visible start. The dragon himself, scarce waiting 
for the surprise to subside, waved his paw for 
silence, and said, in a hollow, pasteboardy voice : 

"Most noble Lord of Misrule, before your feast 
commences and the masks are doff 'd, may we not, 
as that which should give good appetite to all, — 
with your lordship's permit and that of my lady's 
grace, — tell each some wonder-filling tale as suits 
the goodly time of Yule ? Here be stout maskers 
can tell us strange tales of fairies and goblins, or, 
perchance, of the foreign folk with whom they have 
trafficked in Calicute and Aftrica, Barbaria, Perew, 
and other diverse lands and countries over-sea. 
And after that they have ended, then will I essay a 

* Haled — dragged 

tale that shall cap them all, so past belief shall it 
appear. " 

The close of the dragon's speech, of course, 
made them all the more curious ; and the lady 
Elizabeth did but speak for all when she said, " I 
pray you, good Sir Dragon, let us have your tale 
first. We have had enow of Barbaria and Perew. 
If that yours may be so wondrous, let us hear it 
even now, and then may we decide." 

"As your lady's grace wishes," said the dragon. 
" But methinkswhen you have heard me through, 
you would that it had been the last or else not told 
at all." 

" Your lordship of Misrule and my lady's grace 
must know," began the dragon, " that my story, 
though a short, is a startling one. Once on a time 
there lived a King, who, though but a boy, did, by 
God's grace, in talent, industry, perseverance, and 
knowledge, surpass both his own years and the 
belief of men. And because he was good and 
gentle alike and conditioned beyond the measure 
of his years, he was the greater prey to the wicked 
wiles of traitorous men. And one such, high in 
the King's court, thought to work him ill ; and to 
carry out his ends did wantonly awaken seditious 
and rebellious intent even among the King's kith 
and kin, whom he traitorously sought to wed, — 
his royal and younger sister, — nay, start not, my 
lady's grace ! " exclaimed the dragon quickly, as 
Elizabeth turned upon him a look of sudden and 
haughty surprise. "All is known! And this is 
the ending of my wonderous tale. My lord Sey- 
mour of Sudleye is this day taken for high treason 
and haled* to the Tower. They of your own house- 
hold are held as accomplice to the Lord Admiral's 
wicked intent, and you. Lady Elizabeth Tudor, 
are by order of the council to be restrained in 
prison wards in this your manor of Hatfield until 
such time as the King's Majesty and the honorable 
council shall decide. This on your allegiance ! " 

The cry of terror that the dragon's words awoke 
died into silence as the lady Elizabeth rose to her 
feet, flushed with anger. 

" Is this a fable or the posy of a ring. Sir 
Dragon?" she said, sharply. "Do you come to 
try or tempt me, or is this perchance but some 
part of my Lord of Misrule's Yule-tide mumming? 
'Sblood, sir ; only cravens sneak behind masks to 
strike and threaten. Have ofif your disguise, if you 
be true man ; or, by my word as Princess of 
England, he shall bitterly rue the day who dares 
to befool the daughter of Henry Tudor ! " 

"As you will, then, my lady," said the dragon. 
"Do you doubt me now?" and, tearing off his 
pasteboard wrapping, he stood disclosed before 
them all as the grim Sir Robert Trywhitt, chief 
examiner of the Lord Protector's council. " Move 

forcibly conveyed. 




not at your peril," he said, as a stir in the throng 
seemed to indicate the presence of some brave 
spirits who would have shielded their young Prin- 
cess. " Master Feodary, bid your varlets stand 
to their arms." 

And at a word from Master Avery Mitchell, 
late Lord of Misrule, there flashed from beneath 
the cloaks of certain tall figures on the circle's edge 
the halberds of the guard. The surprise was com- 
plete. The lady Elizabeth was a prisoner in her 
own manor-house, and the Yule-tide revels had 
reached a sudden and sorry ending. 

And yet, once again, under this false accusation, 
did the hot spirit of the Tudors flame in the face 
and speech of the Princess Elizabeth. 

" Sir Robert Trywhitt," cried the brave young 
girl, " these be but lying rumors that do go against 
my honor and my fealty. God knoweth they be 
shameful slanders, sir ; for the which, besides the 
desire I have to see the King's Majesty, 1 pray you 
let me also be brought straight before the court, 
that I may disprove these perjured tongues." 

But her appeal was not granted. For months 
she was kept close prisoner at Hatfield House, 
subjected daily to most rigid cross-examination 
by Sir Robert Trywhitt for the purpose of impli- 
cating her, if possible, in the Lord Admiral's plot. 
But all in vain ; and at last even Sir Robert gave 
up the attempt, and wrote to the council that " the 
lady Elizabeth hath a good wit, and nothing is 
gotten of her but by great policy." 

Lord Seymour of Sudleye was beheaded for 
treason, on Tower Hill, and others, implicated in 

his plots, were variously punished ; but even 
" great policy " can not squeeze a lie out of the 
truth, and Elizabeth was finally declared free of 
the stain of treason. 

Experience, which is a hard teacher, often brings 
to light the best that is in us. It was so in this 
case. For, as one writer says: "The long and 
harassing ordeal disclosed the splendid courage, 
the reticence, the rare discretion, which were to 
carry the Princess through many an awful peril in 
the years to come. Probably no event of her 
early girlhood went so far toward making a woman 
of Elizabeth as did this miserable affair." 

Within ten years thereafter, the lady Elizabeth 
ascended the throne of England. Those ten years 
covered many strange events, many varying fort- 
unes — the death of her brother, the boy King 
Edward, the sad tragedy of Lady Jane Grey, 
Wyatt's rebellion, the tanner's revolt, and all the 
long horror of the reign of " Bloody Mary." You 
may read of all this in history and may see how, 
through it all, the young Princess grew still more 
firm of will, more self-reliant, wise, and strong, 
developing all those peculiar qualities that helped 
to make her England's greatest Oueen and one 
of the most wonderful women in history. But 
through all her long and most historic life, — a 
life of over seventy years, forty-five of which were 
passed as England's Queen, — scarce any incident 
made so lasting an impression upon her as when, 
in Hatfield House, the first shock of the false 
charge of treason fell upon the thoughtless girl of 
fifteen in the midst of the Christmas revels. 


( Recollections o/ a Page in ike Lhtited States Senate. ) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter Til. 


The members of the House of Representatives 
are chosen directly by the people, and no person 
can be a representative " who shall not have 
attained to the age of twenty-five years, and been 
seven years a citizen of the LInited States, and who 
shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that 
State in which he shall be chosen." Their total 
number is regulated by statute of Congress, but 
they must be distributed among the States in 
proportion to population. The Constitution, how- 
ever, provides that the ratio shall not exceed 

one representative for every thirty thousand per- 
sons, but that "each State shall have at least 
one representative." In the First Congress, which 
assembled on the 4th of March, 1789, the thirteen 
original States were represented in the House 
by sixty-five members. This representation was 
fixed by the Constitution, until the taking of a 
census. The first census was that of 1790; and 
in 1792, \'ermont and Kentucky having been 
meanwhile admitted into the L'nion, an apportion- 
ment act was passed, which increased the number 
of representatives to one hundred and five, or one 
for every thirty-three thousand persons. Since 
then, every ten years, a census has been taken, 

* Copyright. 18S4, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved. 

214 AMONG THE LAW-MAKERS. [January, 

the population of the country ascertained, and 
other enumerations and apportionments have been 
made. The States, the people, and their rep- 
resentatives have increased in number, until 
now, under the tenth and latest census (that of 
1880), 49,371,340 inhabitants, comprising the 
"representative population" of the country, scat- 
tered throughout thirty-eight States, are repre- 
sented by three hundred and twentj'-five members 
of the House, — a ratio of one representative to 
every one hundred and fifty-two thousand inhabi- 
tants.* New York, with a little over five million 
inhabitants, heads the list with thirty-four repre- 
sentatives ; Pennsylvania, with over four million, 
has twenty-eight; and so it tapers toward a 
point where we find Colorado, Oregon, Delaware, 
and Nevada, with populations ranging in the order 
named from two hundred thousand to sixty-five 
thousand, and with one representative each. 


For the election of its thirty-four representa- 
tives, the legislature of New York has divided the 
area of the State into thirty-four parts, each " con- 
taining as nearly as practicable an equal number of 
inhabitants." These divisions are called Congres- 
sional districts, and the voters, or electors, of each 
district are entitled to choose one person to repre- 
sent them in the House. A similar division is made 
by other States having populations which entitle 
them to two or more representatives. Where a 
representation of only one is given, as in the case 
of Nevada, the whole State is practically a district. 

On a specified day, every alternate year. Con- 
gressional elections are held in each State, f and 
every person who, by the law of his State, is quali- 
fied as an elector " of the most numerous branch 
of the State legislature," is entitled to vote. This 
is done by going to one of the " polls," or voting- 
place, and depositing in a box, in charge of elec- 
tion officers, a slip of paper bearing the written or 
printed name of the candidate whom he wishes for 
representative. These slips are termed "ballots," 
and the box into which they are dropped the 
" ballot-box." The voting begins at a designated 
hour in the morning, and ceases at sunset or other 
stated time in the evening, when the polls are 
closed, the ballots are counted, and the man whose 
name appears on the greatest number of them cast 
in the Congressional district is declared elected 

as the representative in Congress of the people of 
that district. 

The terms of the representatives begin at twelve 
o'clock on the 4th of March of every odd-numbered 
year (such as 1883 or 1885), and end at twelve 
o'clock on the 4th day of March of the second year 
following. This period of two years is termed a 
"Congress," and a Congress is divided into "ses- 
sions." There is one regular session every year, 
commencing on the first Monday of December, thus 
making two regular sessions in a Congress, known 
as the "long session" and the "short session"; 
and as the President of the United States " may," 
in the language of the Constitution, " on extraordi- 
nary occasions convene both Houses or either of 
them," there are frequently three sessions in a 
Congress. At the expiration of a Congress, the 
terms of all of the members of the House come to 
an end, and so the House of Representatives itself, 
as a body, remains out of existence until reorgan- 
ized by the convening of the members of (to use a 
popular expression) the " next " or " new " House. 

But it is not necessarily " new," so far as faces 
are concerned ; for many of the members of the 
"old" or "last" House are generally re-elected. 
The desire for re-election and the power of the 
people to send other men to the House, have a 
tendency to keep the law-makers on their good 
behavior. The present Congress, which is the 
forty-eighth since the establishment of our present 
form of government, will end on the 4th of March 
next. The great voting done throughout the 
country during the past autuirm months was for 
the election of representatives to the Forty-ninth 
Congress, as well as for a President and Vice-Presi- 
dent of the United States. 

At the opening of the first session of every Con- 
gress, the newly elected representatives assemble 
in their hall, and from their number immediately 
select their presiding officer, or Speaker. t In ad- 
dition to the formidable power which belongs to 
that high station, the Speaker retains his ordinary 
privileges as a representative. A "Speakership 
contest," as the struggle between the rival candi- 
dates is termed, is often a very exciting and always 
an interesting political event. Upon his election, he 
takes an oath (administered by one of the mem- 
bers) by which he pledges himself to support the 
Constitution of the United States, and to faithfully 
discharge the duties of his office. Thereupon, hav- 

' The eight organized Territories and their sohtar\' delegates are not embmced in these fignres. The total popnlation of the United 
States (not including Alaska, the Indian Territory, " wild Indians," etc.) is 50,155,783, according to the last Census Report. The popu- 
lation of the eight Territories and the District of Columbia is 784,443. 

t The Congressional elections are not, however, as they should be, uniform as to time throughout the United States. Ohio, for 
example, chose her representatives to the Forty. Ninth Congress in October last, while nearly ali of the other States did their Congressional 
voting in November, in connection \\ith that for President. 

J The term " Speaker" is borrowed from the name given to the presiding officer of the House of Commons of Great Britain. 



ing gone through the formaUty of thanking his 
associates for the honor conferred upon him, lie 
administers to tliem a similar oath. The next step 
is for the representatives to appoint the clerical 
and other officers necessary to assist them in their 
proceedings, and then to choose their own seats 
in the Hall of Representatives. And, having at- 
tended to all these matters, — having selected a 
Speaker to preside over their deliberations and 
keep them quiet, having taken the oath of office, 
and having installed their corps of assistants into 
comfortable positions, and ensconced tlicmselves 
in cane-seated chairs behind light-colored, plain- 
looking desks, — the members are full-fledged Con- 
gressmen, and the House of Representatives exists 
once more as a "body," and is ready to roll up its 
legislative sleeves and go to work. 


The senators are elected in a different and 
much simpler manner. They are chosen by the 
kgislatH7rs of the respective States, instead of 
directly by the votes of the people. Each .State is 
entitled to two senators, but no person can be a 
senator, unless he is thirty years of age, of nine 
years' citizenship, and an inhabitant of the State 
when elected. The number of senators is unalter- 
able, except by the admission of new States. Multi- 
ply the number of States at any given time by two, 
and you have the number of senators at that time. 
There is a subtle distinction between a senator and 
a representative as shown in the distinct modes 
of election. The two senators from New York, 
for instance, represent that State as a political 
unit or entity — in other words, in her sovereign 
capacity as a State. (I know this is a puzzler, 
but I gave you fair warning!) The thirty-four 
representatives represent the people of New York 
as so many indhiidiials in the entire republic. 
You will thus sec that in the Senate, one State is 
as potent as another. — they are all "peers," or 
"equals"; while in the House, the power of a 
State is substantially in proportion to the number 
of its inhabitants. 

The senators hold office for six years, and their 
elections are so arranged that the terms of one- 
third of the members expire with each Congress. 
It is possible for the House of Representatives to 
be composed entirely of new members, ignorant 
of the difference between a "call of the House" and 
a "motion to adjourn." Such a thing could not 
happen in regard to the Senate, as only one-third 
of its membership can be changed at a time. This, 
then, forms another distinction between the two 

* See, on these various points, the Cor 

Houses. The Senate is a continuous body. It 
never dies. It is, to all intents, immortal. The 
House, as I ha\e explained, is short-lived. Its 
successor is, in the light of the Constitution, an 
altogether new creation, possessing an entirely 
different soul, but endowed with the authority 
exercised by the "late lamented" — the House 
immediately preceding it. 

In Great Britain, the legislative body which cor- 
responds to the Senate as the " Upper House " is 
the House of Lords ; but most of the peers hold 
office for life and by right of birth or favor of the 
Crown. They are "hereditary legislators," and 
the people have nothing to say in the matter. The 
bright little son of a senator evidently thought the 
Senate was also an hereditary institution ; for, when 
asked what he intended to be on reaching man- 
hood, he mournfully answered: "Well, I 'd like 
to be a hack-driver, but I s'pose I '11 have to be 
a senator ! " 

The Vice-President, who presides over the Sen- 
ate, and who, together with the President, is elected 
by the people of the United States, takes no part 
in its debates. He can only vote in the event of a 
tie; in that case he may determine the question by 
his "casting-vote."* He, like all the senators, 
" qualifies " for his office by taking the usual oath, 
and, with its officers, the Senate is thus serenely 

Yet one other feature is essential to put the two 
bodies into thorough working order, and without 
it little progress in legislation would be made. In 
order that every measure upon which the action 
of Congress is or may be desired shall be prop- 
erly examined, the senators and representatives 
are divided into numerous cliques, or groups, 
styled " Committees," from the fact that to them 
certain matters are " committed," or referred, by 
the respective bodies to which they belong. The 
committees of the House are appointed by the 
Speaker, one Congressman being sometimes a 
member of several committees. Those of the 
Senate are appointed by that body itself, and not 
by the Vice-President. In view of the important 
duties performed by these little councils, this 
right of the Speaker to form them will give 
you an idea of the influence which he exerts in 
public affiiirs. There are over forty regular or 
"standing" committees of the House, the largest 
numbering fifteen members, including the chair- 
man ; and about thirty committees of the Senate, 
the largest consisting of eleven senators, and the 
smallest, of three. There is thus a regular com- 
mittee for nearly every class of legislative subjects 
likely to require the attention of either House; and 
special, or select, committees are constantly being 

titution, Article I., Sections 2. 3, etc. 




established. Most important measures undergo tlie 
rigid examination of the appropriate committees 
before being considered by either branch of Con- 

to an executive department for information, taking 
part in the debates of the respective houses, writing 
letters to constituents, and transacting infinite odds 

ONE OF THE THORNS OF SENATORIAL LIFE. — A dissatisfied Constituent: "Well, Senator, how you could 'a' talked about that meas- 
ure the way you talked about it before election, an' then 'a' voted on that measure the way you did after election, is to me rather 
considerable of an enigniy ! " 

and ends of business until dusk. And when they 
go home in the evening, they are not always al- 
lowed to rest. They are bothered by dissatisfied 
constituents ; they are besieged by strangers and 
friends, one wanting this done, another that, a 
third something else, until, wearied and exhausted, 
they sink into a restless sleep, and dream hideous 
visions of the coming day. 

Yet there is another side to the picture. They each 
receive five thousand dollars ayearand perquisites,* 
to say nothing of the honor of writing "M.C." and 
" U. S. S." after their names; they are "distin- 
guished guests " wherever they go ; they are invited 
to all levees and receptions, to all festivals and 
amusements; they are banqueted by the President 
and entertained by Cabinet Ministers ; and they are 
welcome to every species of domestic and foreign 
hospitality, from a charity-ball to a german at the 
legation, where they may move solemnly through 
the figures of the stately minuet, or dance to the 
livelier music of a cotillion and Virginia reel. 

grass in full session. When the members of a com- 
mittee report against or in favor of a particular mat- 
ter, the house to which they belong are inclined to 
agree to what they recommend, since they know 
that the committeemen have specially studied the 
merits and demerits of the question. The commit- 
tees meet in elegantly furnished, frescoed rooms, 
built for their comfort and convenience, and pro- 
vided with special clerks to record their doings. 
Their meetings are sometimes open to the public, 
but generally secret ; and, as even a Congressman 
can not be in two places at the same time, and as 
he should not absent himself from the sessions of 
his house without "leave," committee-service is 
irksome as well as important. 

It is an error to suppose that the law-makers 
have nothing moi'c to do than to attend the ordi- 
nary sessions of the Senate or House, and draw 
their pay. Some of them are models of industry, — 
going to the Capitol early in the morning, holding 
committee-meetings for an hour or two, darting off 

* In addition to their stated salary, they are entitled to " traveling expenses," known as " mileage," because computed by the distance 
between their homes and the city of Washington : they receive a certain allowance of newspapers and stationery free, as also copies of 
all public documents published under their authority — from an elaborate medical history of several huge volumes to a "Congressional 
Directory " ; they get seeds from the Agricultural Department and flowers from the Botanical Gardens ; and they have other privileges and 
honors which I shall not detail at present. The .Senators have recently voted themselves "private secretaries." much to the vexation of 
the members of the House, who would like to have such luxuries, also, but do not dare to take that liberty with the public funds. 

A iM O N G THE L A W - M A K E R S . 

21 7 

Altogether, their careers are decidedly agreeable, 
and the average Congressman would gladly serve 
his country for life, and " nominate his bones " to 
till the vacancy occasioned by his death. 

Chapter IV. 


Congress, while the grandest tribunal on the 
American continent, if not on the globe, is not the 
sole legislative authority in this country. The 
States have local legislatures, which are vested 
with exclusive power as to certain suljjects ; Con- 
gress, on the other hand, has exclusive jurisdiction 
in regard to other affairs ; and then there is a 
third class of matters, respecting which both State 
and National law-makers may legislate, with this 
qualification, — that should the State laws conflict 
with the National, the former must give way to 
the latter. The Constitution expressly declares 
what Congress may do ; and, as it can do nothing 
not permitted by the Constitution, 1 refer you to 

abroad, to regulate commerce with foreign nations 
and among the States, to coin money, to establish 
post-offices and post-roads, to create courts for the 
enforcement of Federal statutes, — in brief, to 
make all laws necessary for the protection and 
maintenance of the integrity and honor of the 
Union, and the welfare of the people ds a nation, 
— these are within the powers of Congress. 

The varieties of business with which it has to 
deal reach from the sublime to the ridiculous, — 
from a declaration of war against a threatening 
foe, involving the sacrifice of priceless lives, to a 
law appropriating a few dollars out of the Treasury 
for the loss of a blanket in the Government service. 

The proceedings of the Senate and House are 
methodical; otherwise, with so many Congress- 
men, it would be almost impossible to accomplish 
anything at all toward advancing the interests of 
the nation. To restrain their proceedings from 
an excess of talk, as well as to prevent undue haste 
in legislation, numerous rules are established by 
each house and rigidly enforced. 

The daily routine of the Senate, as 1 observed 

ONE OF THE ROSES OF SENATORIAL LIFE. — " He 15 invited to all receptions, and IS * a distinsruished guest wherever he coes. 

that instrument for particulars as to its power. To it, was very simple. After prayers by the chaplain, 

raise money to defray the expenses of the general the next thing was the reading of the journal of the 

Government, to provide navies and armies useful previous day by one of the clerks. After that, the 

in resenting insults or resisting danger at home or Vice-Prusidentwouldlavlieforcthe Senate messages 




from the President of the United States and other 
papers upon his table. Then he would announce 
petitions and memorials to be in order. Of 
course, the people of the United States having 
sent these men to Congress to make laws for them, 
have a right to tell them what lau s they wish en- 
acted, and the first amendment to the Constitution 
prohibits Congress from interfering with this right. 
All the memorials having been presented, reports 
of committees, bills, and other papers were sub- 
mitted. For the presentation of these matters, the 
first hour of every day was set apart. After the 
"morning hour," the Senate generally devoted 
itself to the consideration of those measures which 
lead to the great debates of Congress, and result 
in the enactment of important laws. As you may 
wish to know something about the course of legis- 
lation, I shall try to enlighten you. 

Let us take a dainty illustration. Suppose all of 
you young folk should suddenly acquire a keen ap- 
petite for honey ; that yoU could, in fact, eat noth- 
ing else ; and that you should prefer the honey 
produced abroad by foreign industry to that of the 
busy bees of our own land. Now, the gathering 
of the honey from the hives, putting it into cases, 
or extracting it from the comb, and bottling, 
together with its transportation over thousands of 
miles, are items which involve considerable ex- 
pense. Then, too, the farmer, or producer, is en- 
titled to some compensation in the way of interest 
on the money which he has invested in bees and 
other features of his business. The wholesale 
merchant, who buys it from the producer, the 
retail dealer, who ljuys it from the wholesale mer- 
chant, each adds to its cost a reasonable amount 
by way of profit. All these matters enhance its nat- 
ural value, — or, in simpler words, make the honey 
worth more to you than it would actually be worth 
to you if you could obtain it directly from the work- 
shop of the bees. In addition to these, however, 
there is another thing that seriously affects the price. 

Money is required to run the ponderous machin- 
ery of government. The legislators, the President 
and other executive officers, the judges, the sol- 
diers, sailors, and miscellaneous " servants of the 
people " do not work for mere love. They must 
be paid for their services in money. The noble 
volunteers who, to protect their country's flag, 
risked death upon the battle-field, and returned to 
their homes crippled, wrecked in health, disabled 
for work, deserve something better than empty 
hand-shakings on the part of the Union. The 
officers of government can not all do their work in 
the open air, nor can commerce navigate over rocks 
and reefs. Public buildings must be erected, har- 
bors and rivers improved, light-houses built. These 
can not be had for nothing. Then there is the 

Indian. We stole his lands. He expects us to 
pay his board. We have agreed to do it. 

These and other matters connected with the man- 
agement of national affairs cost millions of dollars 
annually. How is the money to be raised ? The 
Constitution points out to Congress the way — 
Taxes ! Taxes ! * 

There are two kinds of taxes— direct and indirect. 
While a handsome yearly income is derived from 
sales of public lands and from other sources, the 
Government depends for its hundreds of millions 
upon indirect taxation. One species of indirect 
taxation is what is styled the " Internal Revenue," 
which taxes domestic evils, like the liquor trade, 
and yields the Government an immense sum. 

But its favorite and most profitable " indirect" 
device is the "Tariff." Upon certain products 
and manufactures brought to our shores from 
other lands, it lays a " duty," or tax, and that 
duty must be paid to the proper Government 
officials (called "customs-officers" or "custom- 
house officers ") before the things can be sold in 
this country. On every pound of figs brought 
to this country, the Government, through its 
" customs- officers," collects two cents. Slates 
and slate-pencils from abroad must pay thirty cents 
for every dollar of their worth. When you buy 
these things, remember you are paying much more 
than actual values. A part of the excess goes into 
the treasury of the United States as a " duty," or 
"indirect tax"; for, of course, the dealer who 
imports these articles includes this extra cost 
in the price charged the purchaser. You little 
folk have perhaps no idea how much you con- 
tribute every year to defray the expenses of 
our grand republic ! Dolls and toys not made 
in this country must pay thirty-five cents on every 
dollar of their value ; foreign beef and pork are 
taxed one cent per pound ; vinegar, seven and a 
half cents per gallon ; oats, ten cents a bushel ; 
niackerel, one cent per pound. Bonnets, hats, and 
hoods, for men, women, and children; canes and 
walking-sticks ; brooms, combs, jewelry, precious 
stones, musical instruments of all kinds, playing- 
cards, paintings, and statuary, — these are also 
roughly jostled by this uncouth law. 

I should state, however, that all articles from 
abroad are not taxed. There is what is known as 
the "Free List," on which are placed certain im- 
ports exempt from duty, such as nux vomica, assa- 
fcetida, charcoal, divi-divi, dragon's blood, Bologna 
sausages, eggs, fossils, and other articles ! But the 
great bulk of important staples used in every-day 
life does not come within this favored class. Chem- 
ical products ; earthenware and glassware; metals; 
wood and woodenwares ; sugar ; tobacco ; provis- 
ions; cotton and cotton goods; hemp, jute, and 

* Constitution, Article I., Sec. 8, CI. i. 



flax goods ; wool and woolens ; silk and silk 
goods; books, papers, etc. ; and snndiies, — thus 
reads the Tariff List. 

This is what is called "Protection." That is, 
putting heavy duties on foreign articles and com- 
modities raises the price of those foreign articles, 
and compels people to buy, instead, those made 
and produced by American industry. 

The present tariff imposes upon foreign honey a 
duty of twenty cents a gallon. We will say that 
you consider this a dreadful tax on such a " neces- 
sary," and that you would, under the circumstances 
supposed, try to have it removed. Accordingly, 
you would prepare and sign a petition to Congress, 
setting forth the hardship of this extra expense 
imposed upon you as purchasers and "consumers" 
of the commodity and asking that the tax be 
abolished. Now, let us further suppose that I repre- 
sent your district in Congress. (1 say, "siipposi-.") 

Very well. You would send that petition to 
me, as your representative, that I might present it 
to the House. Having been presented, it would be 
referred to a committee for examination. As the 
removal of the duty would reduce the revenue of the 
Government, the petition would be sent to the Com- 
mittee on Ways and Means. This committee, which 
is a very important one and consists of thirteen of 
the ablest members of the House, would read your 
petition and examine into the matter. There 
would then be two obstacles to overcome. 

In the first place, the committee, or a majority 
of the members, might not wish to reduce the 
receipts of the national treasury without strong 
reasons being shown, and might invite you to ex- 
plain the urgency of your demand. In the second 
place, the removal of the duty would not only affect 
the revenue of the Government, but would destroy 
the monopoly and cut down the profits of American 
honey-producers or dealers, because the foreign 
farmers and merchants would thus be enabled to 
sell their honey at least twenty cents per gallon 
less than they can sell it under the present state 
of affairs. In other words, it would provoke 
"competition," and the price would probably fall 
far below that now charged at an ordinar)- grocer\ - 
store. The American dealers would, naturally 
enough, oppose your designs, and request a hear- 
ing before the committee. Each side might employ 
lawyers to speak in its behalf, or might appear and 
personally argue the matter, according as the 
committee might prefer. But there would hardly 
be room for preference between children clamoring 

for honey and lawyers clamoring for fees. In 
either event, the committee would run a great risk 
of being talked to death. 

Let us assume, however, that they survive the 
ordeal and become convinced that the duty, while 
a protection against competition and small profits 
to a comparatively few old American "producers, "is 
an injustice to the myriad of young American "con- 
sumers, "and that the lawshouldbe repealed. They 
would then prepare a " bill," somewhat as follows : 

"A Bill to put Honey on the Free List. 

" Be it enacted by tJie Senate and House of Rep- 
resentatives of the United States of America in 
Congress assembled. That from and after the 
passage of this act, the importation of honey shall 
be exempt from customs duties ; and all laws 
inconsistent herewith are hereby repealed." 

One of the members of the committee would 
then report that bill to the House.* Ordinarily, 
that would be the last of it. But, in order to finish 
this illustration, let me imagine you to be hanging 
between life and death, — famishing for honey, — 
and vet unable to buy it at the price charged. Sup- 
pose, for this or other reasons, the committee should 
ask that a day be assigned for its consideration, 
and that the House should acquiesce. 

Adopting the present tense, let us further 
assume that the day has arrived. The bill having 
been read a first and second tinie.f the fight begins 
in earnest, and the members of the House opposed 
to it and those in its favor argue and wrangle and 
shout "Free Trade" and "Protection" for a 
month, as they did on a certain tariff bill which 
they did not pass last year. I, of course, cham- 
pion your interests with all my well-knowm elo- 
quence, — now putting your opponents to sleep by 
a dose of statistics, now lashing them into activity 
with my sesquipedalian sentences of wrath. (By 
the way, do your dictionaries need re-binding?) 
Some of the enemies to the bill are willing to 
reduce the tax, but not to entirely remove it, and 
they suggest an amendment lowering the duty from 
tiuenty to ten cents a gallon. Other enemies wish 
the bill to "lie on the table" or be "indefinitely 
postponed." The House may organize itself into a 
" Committee of the Whole House on the State of 
the L'nion," a proceeding usual in the considera- 
tion of public bills and business, as distinguished 
from a " Committee of the Whole House" for the 
consideration of private business. 

* Petitions or bills may be presented or introduced in either House. There is but one exception to this rule. The Constitution pre- 
scribes that "all bills for raising revenue shall originate in the House of Representatives." 

t Every bill must be read three times before being passed. These readings .arc trumpet-notes of w.arning. They notify the members of 
the measure before the House, in order that any of them who think it an improper measure, may resist its passage, and thus prevent 
underhand legislation. As a general thing, a bill is read " in full " only once, the other two readings being " by tide," which means that 
the title only is read. 

220 AMONG THE LAW-MAKERS. [January, 

But let us hurry over all formalities and compli- 
cated motions, and suppose all the efforts of its ene- 
mies to be vain. The question is at length asked : 
" Shall the bill be engrossed and read a third 
time?" This "main," or "previous question" is 
ordered, and the bill is accordingly read a third time 
by its title, unless some member should wish it read 
in full.* Then comes the question, "Shall the 
bill pass ? " Again it is open to debate, but not 
to amendment (or change. )f Then another "pre- 
vious question " is ordered, and a vote taken on the 
passage of the bill. There are several ways of voting, 
but in this case we will suppose that the clerk calls 
the "yeas and nays" (although it will consume 
half an hour), in order that every member may 
record himself as either against or for the bill. 
We will suppose that a majority votes in its favor. 
The bill is now passed, the title is again read and 
stands, unless amended. Thereupon, a motion is 
made to "reconsider" the vote last taken ; and it 
is also moved that the motion to reconsider be laid 
upon the table. This is a technical formality, 
which "clinches" the action of the body. The 
last motion is agreed to, and the bill is now beyond 
the reach of danger from the House. The clerk of 
the House then "certifies" the bill, notes on it the 
date of its passage, and takes it (together with my 
petition and the other papers in the case) to the 
Senate. In the Senate it is referred to the Com- 
mittee on Finance, reported back, argued, and 
(we shall assume) passed. The secretary of the 
Senate carries it to the House and notifies that 
body of its passage by the Senate. It has now 
become an "Act of Congress," and is enrolled on 
parchment by the clerk of the House (it being a 
House bill), and examined by the Joint Committee 
on Enrolled Bills, who see that no errors have 
been made by the enrolling clerks, and who report 
to each House. Then it is signed by the Speaker 
and the President of the Senate, the clerk of the 
House certifies that it originated in that body, and 
a member of the joint committee takes it to 
the President of the United States, who, having 
ten days in which to reflect, finally thinks it a 
good Act and signs it. It is at last a law. The 
President notifies the House of his approval; the 
parchment is deposited among the public archives 
of the State Department ; the law is duly published, 
under the direction of the Secretary of State, as a 
statute at large of the United States ; foreign "pro- 

ducers," and merchants see it ; competition at once 
begins, and I am now prepared to accept your kind 
invitation to a delicious honey-feast. 

This is a rough and hurried sketch of the travels 
of a measure on its road to enactment as a law. I 
have not stopped to consider its chances of defeat, 
(i) The Senate Committee might have " pigeon- 
holed " it or not reported it back to the Senate. 
Or (2) a majority of the Senate might have voted 
against its enactment, and thus have killed it out- 
right. (3) They might have amended it, the House 
might have refused to concur in the amendments, 
joint conference committees of the two Houses 
might have been appointed to reconcile the Houses 
by some sort of compromise, either House might 
have refused to agree to any report of such com- 
mittee and insisted upon its position, and the disa- 
greement (or "dead-lock") might have sealed the 
fate of the bill. On the other hand, one of the 
Houses might have receded from its position, and 
the bill might have passed with or without amend- 
ment. Again, it would have been an Act. But (4) 
the President of the United States might have 
objected to it, and forbidden it, by his "veto," from 
becoming a law. In that event, he would have re- 
turned it to the House with his objections ; and 
unless the House and Senate, each by a two-thirds 
vote t of the members present, should have again 
passed it " over the veto," the measure would have 
been defeated. 

It is unnecessary to weary you by detailing the 
many difficulties an objectionable measure would 
encounter. I have endeavored, however, to show 
you that there are safeguards thrown around the 
proceedings of Congress for the purpose of pre- 
venting improper legislation from being rushed 
through without, at least, warning the people of it 
and giving them an opportunity to protest. An 
explanation of the rules established by both Houses 
to this end would fill a large volume. Some of 
them are abstruse and apparently incomprehen- 
sible, but you may rest assured that they all have 
a wise object in view — namely, to protect the peo- 
ple of the country from the enactment of bad laws. 
If, therefore, a harsh or unjust measure should at 
any time be enacted by Congress, you will under- 
stand the reason and know the moral to be drawn 
from it — that a majority of the law-makers have 
not done their duty, and that their places should 
be filled by better men. 

' Tt} lie cpntimtcd. j 

* The engro-ssing, strictly, should be done by the clerk before further proceedings are had ; but, to econoinize time, this theory is not 
carried out in Congressional practice. 

t An e.vception to the rule, " It is never too late to mend." 

tit requires only a majority of each House to pass a bill — one more than half the number of members present will suffice. To pass it 
" over the veto " requires a tim-thirds vote, which vote, the Constitution declares, shall always be taken by the yeas and nays : " and the 
names of the persons voting for and against the bill shall be entered on the journal of each House respectively." 




By Charles R. T.-vlbot. 

Stern Master Munchem, rod in hand, stole out of school one day, 
And suddenly appeared before some boys, who 'd run away, 
All sitting on the meadow wall. "Aha!" he cried; and then 
He stood and grimly counted them. — He found that there were ten. 

He laid his hand upon his heart and looked up at the sky. 
" My lads," sonorously he said, "of course you know that 1" — 

And then he paused to clear his throat, while the end boy of the line. 
Sly Tommy Dobbs, crept softly off. — (And then there were but nine.) 



Of course," the master recommenced, " you 

know that I am here" — 
He paused again and with his pen he scratched 

behind his ear. 
Meanwhile, fat Peleg Perkins had conchidcd 

not to wait, 

And followed Tommy Uobbs's lead. — (And then 
there were but eight.) 

Ahem!" pursued the master. "As I observed 
just now, 

Of course you know I 'm here to teach the 

young idea how " — 
And here he stopped to wipe his brow. Lank 

Obadiah Hicks 
Chose this occasion to depart. — (And then there 

were but six.) 

Of course, as 1 was saying, you know 1 'm 

here to teach " — 
Here Master Munchem once again paused 

gravely in his speech, 
And knit his brows abstractedly, still gazing 

toward the heaven. 
So small Giles Jenkins scampered off. — (And 

then there were but seven.) 

" In short, I 'm here to teach the young idea 
how to s/ioot." 

Here he ceased gazing at the sky and looked 
down at his boot. 

Then jolly Jonas Doolittle, he made one reck- 
less dive 

And took //////self out of the line. — (And then 
there were but five.) 


" Therefore," the master hastened on, " it is en- 
tirely plain " — 
Here he took off his spectacles and put them 
on again ; 

While anotlier of his hearers, gaping Maximil- 
ian More, 

Dropped down and vanished out of sight. — 
(And then there were but four.) 

" 'T is clearly plain" (the speech went on) "that 

you must understand " — 
And now the master drew his rod four times 

across his hand ; 
Whereat wise Solon Simmons ran and hid 

behind a tree, 
Unwilling longer to remain. - (And then there 

were but three.) 

" Must understand, in such a painful case as this, 

what must " — 
He struck his pantaloons a blow that raised a 

cloud of dust. 
In which another urchin quickly disappeared 

from view, 

Sedate Benoni Butterworth. — (And then there 
were but tno.) 

" In such a painful case as this, what must and 

sitall be done ! " 
The master looked up at the boys. Odds, 

zooks ! The ten were one ! 
So he straightway fell on sleepy Toby Tinkham 

there and then, 
And' gave him such a lesson as might well 

suffice for ten. 





By C. F. Holder. 

Probably no animal excites so much wonder 
and astonishment as the elephant, the largest of 
living land animals. Its enormous size, its re- 
markable intelligence, and its great age — even 
in captivity sometimes reaching to one hundred 
and thirty years — seem to place it above other 
animals in popular estimation ; and, as shown in 
the case of the now famous Jumbo, the larger the 
elephant is the more curiosity and interest does it 

Jumbo, however, is a very small affair when 
compared with some of the elephants that roamed 
the earth in earlier times. Even the mammoth, 
that existed when our forefathers were living in 
caves and were clothed in skins, could have raised 
and tossed him high in air ; yet the great mam- 
moth itself was a pigmy compared with the huge 
animals that preceded it, and was, indeed, much 
smaller than many of the elephants of a still earlier 

Though in modern days we look to Africa and 
Asia for the elephant, in those ancient times Amer- 
ica had its droves that wandered over our present 
homes with other strange animals that have long 
since passed away. The great mastodon wandered 
over New York State in vast herds. Where New- 
burgh now stands, a fine specimen has been found, 
while similar remains have been unearthed at Mt. 
Holly, Vermont ; and at New Britain, and Cheshire, 
in Connecticut. Another and smaller species of 
mastodon, known as the American elephant, ranged 
over those sections of the continent nowbounded 
by Georgia, Texas, and Missouri on the south, 
Canada on the north, and Oregon and California 
on the west, and was probably hunted by the cave- 
dwellers of old with weapons as rude as those now 
used by the native African hunters. 

In the extreme north, especially in Alaska, 
flourished the great hairy elephant, or mammoth. 
It will be seen, therefore, that at different periods 
America has been the home of three or perhaps 
more distinct species of elephants, that roamed 
about as do the buffaloes in the great West ; and 
whereas there are now only two distinct kinds of 
elephants living in all the world, there were then 
at least fourteen. 

The question will perhaps be asked, How do 
we know that these great creatures lived in Amer- 
ica so many years ago ? This can be very well 
answered by relating the adventures of some 
workmen at the Harmony Mills, Cohoes, N. Y. 

They were engaged in excavating a cellar, and 
after removing several thousand loads of soil, peat, 
trunks of trees, and other material, they came 
upon a great well in the rock, commonly called 
a pot-hole. 

Continuing the excavation, they found trunks 
of trees that had been gnawed by beavers, though 
these animals are now never found in that locality ; 
and finally, in the bottom of the great well, the as- 
tonished workmen discovered the jaw of an enor 
mous animal, which Professor Hall pronounced to be 
that of a mastodon — an extinct American elephant. 
Digging still deeper, they found lying upon a bed 
of clay, broken slate, gravel, and water-worn peb- 
bles, and covered with river ooze and vegetable 
matter, the principal parts of the mastodon's 
skeleton. According to Professor Hall, these pre- 
historic bones, dropped from the melting ice, had 
been deposited in the cavity by a glacier, ages 
ago, and so preserved as a page in the history of 
the time. 

That other mastodons were carried to their 
graves on great glaciers, or were affected by them, 
is shown by a tooth of one in the Philadelphia 
Academy of Sciences, that is marked with the 
glacial scrapings ; while still another, found in 
Kentucky, now in Rutgers College, shows, also, 
the glacial lines. 

The Cohoes mastodon is now in the State Mu- 
seum at Albany. Numerous similar remains in 
other museums of the country show that this giant 
beast ranged the United States in vast herds, 
finally being driven out or exterminated, possibly 
by the mighty glaciers that swept down over the 
face of the country in that distant age known as 
the glacial period. 

A famous pasture for these giants seems to have 
been what is now known as the Big Bone Lick, a 
morass in Kentucky, about twenty-three miles from 
Cincinnati. Here, imbedded in the blue clay of 
the ancient creek, have been found the complete 
skeletons and bones of over one hundred masto- 
dons and twenty mammoths, and the remains of 
several other gigantic monsters of former days. 

One of the most remarkable of the American 
elephants, specimens of which have also been 
found in Europe, was the Dinotherium, a huge 
creature standing on legs ten feet in height, 
and attaining a length of nearly twenty feet. 
The tusks, instead of extending out of the upper 
jaw, were in the lower jaw and grew downward, 




giving the animal a very singular appearance. 
We know that the elephants of to-day use their 
tusks to lift and crush their enemies, but in the 
Dinotheriu?n, the tusks actual!)- point at the owner. 
What, then, « as their use ? 

In answer to this, we find that the huge animal 
was a water-lover, and probably made its home on 
the banks of streams, living a life similar to that 
of the hippopotamus. With this knowledge, a 
use for these great recur\'ing incisors is readily 
seen. They were used as pick-axes to tear away 
the earth and dig out the succulent vegetation 
that it fed upon ; and at night, when partly floating, 
they might have been buried in the bank, forming 
veritable anchors for the living and bulky ships. 
When attacked by its — perhaps human — enemies, 
we can imagine the great creature struggling from 
the mire, lifting itself to dry land by striking its 
tusks into the ground and using them to hoist its 
ponderous body to the bank. 

Remains of the Dinothcrium are common in 

France and Germany, and a model of this great 
elephant has been purchased by the French Gov- 

In India, there formerly hved six different kinds 
of elephants. One, called by the naturalists 
Elcphas Gangesa, had a \ er)' small head, but its 
tusks were of so enormous a size, that forty or fifty 
boys and girls could have been lifted and carried 
with the greatest ease upon them and the head. 
The length of both head and tusks was over four- 
teen feet. The tusks were not bent like those of 
the mammoth, but curved gently upward, ending 
in extremely sharp points, showing them to have 
been terrible weapons. 

In Malta, at about the same period of time, 
there lived a Lilliputian elephant, that when full- 
grown was barely three feet in height. Its babies 
would surely have been a curious sight. Imagine 
an elephant that could be carried about in your 
overcoat pocket, and you can then form an idea 
of this baby elephant of those far-off days. 


By JoHX R. Coryell. 

Christmas is just as much Christmas at the 
Boon Island light-house as it is anywhere else in 
the world. 

And why not ? 

To be sure, the nearest land is ten miles away : 
and when the winter storms come, the wa\es dash 
quite over the two acres of rocks out of which the 
sturdy light-house rises. There are no blazing 
rows of streets lined with toy-shops there ; no 
gatherings of families; no Christmas-trees loaded 
down with presents ; nothing to be seen from the 
light-house but the changing water and the un- 
changeable rocks. Water on three sides, and on 
the fourth side a bluff barrier of rocks, with the 
world hiding behind it ten miles away. 

There are six children there, though, and a 
mother and a father ; and if they can not make a 
Christmas, then nobody can. 

Why, Baby Deb alone is material enough of 
which to make a Christmas, and a very rollicking, 
jolly sort of Christmas, too ; but when to her you 
add Tom and Sue and Sally and Ike and Sam, — 
well, the grim old light-house fairly overflow s with 
Christmas every twenty-fifth of December. 

If it is a lonely, old, one-eyed light-house, has 
it not a chimney? And do not the children there 
have stockings — good long stockings ? Indeed, they 

have. And does not Christmas Eve see them all 
temptingly hung, so invitingly limp and empty, 
under the mantel-shelf.' And does not Christmas 
morning — very early, mind you! — see six gradu- 
ated white-robed ghosts performing their myste- 
rious ceremonies around six bulging stockings ? 

Ah, then, if you suppose that that cunning old 
gentleman, Santa Claus, does not know how to 
find a chimney, even when the cold waves are 
pelting it with frozen spra\'-drops ten miles from 
land, you little know what a remarkable gift he 
has in that way ! 

.-\nd the Christmas dinners they have there ! 
The goose, — the brown, crisp, juic\ , melting 
roast goose ! What would that dinner be without 
that goose ? What, indeed ! 

But once, — they turn pale at that light-house 
now when they think of it, — once, they came 
very near having no goose for Christmas. 

It came about in this way: Papa — Ah, if you 
could only hear Baby Deb tell about it ! It would 
be worth the journey. But you can not, of course, 
so never mind. Papa Stoughton — the light- 
house-keeper, you know — had lost all his money 
in a savings-bank that had failed early in that 

A goose is really not a very expensive fowl ; 

i;a1!V I)E i; " p'.ws " !■ (jk 

Till'; ( ■ 1 1 K I S 1' M A S (;<)() s K 


but if one has not the money, of course one can 
not buy even a cheap thini;. Papa Stoughton 
could not afford a tjoose. He said so. — said so 
before all the family. 

Ike says that the silence tliat fell upon that 
family then w as painful to hear. They looked at 
one another with ejes so wide open that it 's a 
mercy they ever could shut them again. 

"No goose!" at last cried Tom, who was the 

" No goose ! " cried the others in chorus. All 
e.\cept Baby Deb, who was busy at the time gently 
admonishing Sculpin, her most troublesome child, 

onl)' four years old, gave lierself \cry little concern 
about the thoughts of others. IJer own thoughts 
took all of her time. 

Tom finally said " Ah ! " under his breath, and 
mysteriously vanished into another room aftir 
beckoning to his brothers and sisters to follow him, 
which they did almost before they had fairly said 
'■.•\h!" Baby Deb was tliere, too; somewhat 
awe-struck at the mystery about her, but ready to 
lend the help of her wisdom, if necessary. 

" We must have a goose," said Tom. 

" Oh ! " gasped his audience, moved by min- 
gled amazement and admiration. 


for being so dirty. Baby Deb said " No doose ! " 
after all the others were quiet. 

That made them all laugh. No doubt they 
thought that, after all, so long as Baby Deb was 
there, it would be Christmas anyhow, goose or no 
goose. .So they were happy for a moment, until 
the thought came that roast goose was good on 
Christmas even with Baby Deb ; and then they 
looked dismayed again. 

However, when Papa Stoughton explained how 
it was, they saw it as plainly as he did, and so they 
made no complaint. Only Tom fell a-thinking, 
and when the others saw what he was doing, they 
did the same ; the difference being that Tom 
was trying to think what could be done to get the 
goose an) ho\v, and they were trying to think w hat 
he was thinking .about, so that they could think 
the same. 

All except Rab\- Deb, of course: who, being 

Tom looked at them with great firmness and 

"Ever since 1 was born," he went on, "we 
have had a roast goose for" 

Ever since he was born ! It might have been 
a hundred years before, from Tom's tone and man- 
ner, and the audience was tremendously impressed. 

"And," continued the orator, "we must have 
one now. We ic/// have one now." 

They almost stopped breathing. 

" I have a plan." They shuddered and drew 
nearer. " We all must contribute ! " 

" Oh ! " in chorus. 

" Do you want goose. Sue ? " 

" Yes, indeed." 

" You, Sal?" 



"Dol?' Well!" 




" Sam ? " 
" Yes, si/:" 

" Me, too," said Baby Deb, with great earnest- 
ness ; for it was clear to her that it was a question 
of eating, and she did not wish to be left out. 

"Of course, you too, you daisy dumpling," said 
Tom. " Now, then," he continued, when order was 
restored, " what shall we contribute ? I 'U give my 
new sail-boat. That ought to bring fifty cents." 

His new sail-boat ! Why, he had only just made 
it, and had not even tried it yet. Oh ! evidently 
this was a time of sacrifices. Who could hesitate 
now ? 

" I '11 give my shells," said Sue, heroically. 

•■ My sea-mosses," sighed Sally. 

" You may take my shark's teeth," said Ike. 

" And my whale's tooth," said Sam. 

The sacrifice was general ; the light-house would 
yield up its treasures. 

" All right," said Tom. "Now let 's tell Father." 

And Father was told, and for some reason he 
pretended to look out of the window very sud- 
denly; but he did not, he wiped his eyes. And 
Mamma Stoughton rubbed her spectacles and 
winked very hard and said ; 

" Bless their hearts ! " 

For j'ou see these parents were very simple- 
hearted folk, and it seemed to them very affecting 
that the children should make such sacrifices to 
procure the goose for Christmas. 

"And what does Baby Deb contribute?" said 
Papa Stoughton, by way of a little joke. 

" I dess I 's not dot nufifin," was Baby Deb's re- 
ply when the matter was explained to her, " 'cept 
'oo tate Stulpin." 

Oh, what a laugh there was then ! For if ever 
there was a maimed and demoralized doll, it was 
Sculpin. But Baby Deb was hugged and kissed 
as if she had contributed a lump of gold instead 
of a little bundle of rags. 

Papa Stoughton and Tom were to go out to the 
main-land the first clear day to buy the goose; but 
— alas ! — a storm came on, and they were forced 
to wait for it to go down. It did not go down ; 
it grew worse and worse. The wind shrieked and 
moaned and wrestled with the lonely tower, and 
the waves hurled themselves furiously at it, and 
washed over and over the island, and no boat 
could have lived a moment in such weather. 

If a goose be only a goose, no matter; but if it 
be a Christmas dinner ! — Ah, then ! 

Yes, they had good reason to feel dismal in the 
light-house. It was no wonder if five noses were 
fifty times a day flattened despairingly against the 
light-house windows. Yes, six noses, for even 
Baby Deb was finally affected ; and, though she 
did not know the least thing about the weather, 

she, too, would press her little nose against the 
glass in a most alarming way, as if she thought 
that pressure was the one effective thing. 

It took some time for Baby Deb to realize the 
importance of having a goose for Christmas ; but 
when she had grasped the idea, she became an 
enthusiast on the subject. She explained the mat- 
ter to her dolls, and was particularly explicit with 
Sculpin, with whom, indeed, she held very elabo- 
rate and almost painful conversations. 

One thing became very certain. There was 
very little prospect of clear weather within a week, 
and it lacked only three days of Christmas. The 
others gloomily gave up hope, but not so did Baby 
Deb. The truth was, she had a plan ; and you 
know when one has a plan, one has hope too. 

Mamma Stoughton had only recently been hav- 
ing a series of talks with Baby Deb on the impor- 
tant cjuestion of prayer, and it had occurred to 
Baby Deb that the goose was a good subject for 
prayer. It was a very clear case to her. The 
goose was necessary. Why not ask for it, then ? 

The great difficulty was to find a secret place 
for her devotions ; for the family very well filled 
the light-house, and Baby Deb had understood that 
prayers ought to be cjuietly and secretly made. 

The place was found, however. Just in front 
of the light-house was a broad ledge of rock, gener- 
ally v. ashed by the waves ; but at low tide, even in 
this bad weather, out of water. The other chil- 
dren had been forbidden to go there because it 
was dangerous, but no one had thought of caution- 
ing Baby Deb. So there she went, and in her 
imperfect way begged hard for the goose. 

Christmas Eve came and still there was no goose. 
Baby Deb was puzzled ; the others were gloomy. 
Still Baby Deb would not give up. It would be 
low tide about seven o'clock. She knew that, for 
she had asked. She would make her last trial. 
She had hope yet ; but as the others knew nothing 
of her plans, they had absolutely no hope. To 
them it was certain that there could be no Christ- 
mas goose. 

Seven o'clock came, and Baby Deb crept softly 
from the room and down-stairs. She opened the 
great door just a little bit, and slipped out into the 
darkness. Really did s/ip, for it was very icy on 
the rocks, and she sat down very hard. However, 
she was very chubby and did not mind it. She 
crawled cautiously around to the big r jck, the keen 
wind nipping her round cheeks and pelting her 
with the frozen drops of spray. She knelt down. 

" Oh ! please, dood Lord, send us a doose. We 
wants a doose awful. Wont you, please, dood 

Thud ! fell something right alongside of her. 
"Oh! What's dat?" she exclaimed, putting 




her hand out. " Why, it 's a doose ! " she cried, 
with a scream of delight, as her hand came in con- 
tact with a soft, warm, feathery body. 

She forgot to give a " thank you " for the goose ; 
but she was thankful, though not so very much 
surprised. She really had expected it. 

It was a heavy load for Baby Deb, but she was 
excited and did not notice it. She made her way 
into the light-house, and, step by step, patter, 
patter, she went upstairs and burst, all breathless, 
into the sitting-room, crying exultantly : 

" It 's tummed, it 's tummed,"as the great goose 
fell from her arms upon the floor. 

Well ! if you think they were not surprised, you 
know very litde about the Stoughton folks. What 
they said, nobody knows. They all talked at once. 
But by and by. Papa Stoughton had a chance to 
be heard. 

" Where did you get it, Baby Deb ? " he asked. 

" Why, I p'ayed Dod for it! " answered Deb. 

" Paid Dodd?" exclaimed Papa Stoughton. 

" Paid Dodd ? " chorused the family. 

" 'Es," responded Baby Deb, convincingly. 
"Dod — Ze dood Lord. I p'ayed to him. He 
sended it to me, dess now." 

More questions and more of Baby Deb's expla- 
nations revealed the whole story. Funny folk, 
those Stoughtons ! — but they spent the next ten 
minutes in wiping their eyes and hugging and kiss- 
ing and making up new pet-names for Baby Deb. 

Papa Stoughton did say to Mamma Stoughton 
that night, as they were going to bed : 

"A wild goose. It was blinded by the bright 
light, and broke its neck by flying against tlie 
glass. And, after all, who shall say that ' the 
good Lord ' did not send it ? " 

At all events, not a word of explanation was said 
to Baby Deb, and no one contradicted her when 
she said at dinner next day : 

" Dod's doose is dood." 

By .\ll.4n Forman. 

It is a well-known fact that our muscles are 
more or less influenced, unconsciously to ourselves, 
by the thoughts with which our minds are occu- 
pied. Sometimes this influence amounts to what 
would almost seem an unconscious control by our 
will over inanimate things. An amusing experi- 
ment, which proves this and has served to pleas- 
antly occupy many a long winter evening, is the 
little design on next page. For lack of a better 
name, we have christened it the Tell-tale. 

With the aid of a pair of compasses or a pencil 
and a bit of string, carefully draw two concentric 
half-circles, — that is, from the same center, and one 
about a half an inch within the other. The size of 
the design makes but little difterencc, but the result 

is more easily seen if the diagram is as large as 
convenient. Divide this double half-circle into a 
number of compartments, and in each place a 
letter of the alphabet, a numeral, or a name, as 
the fancy may dictate ; the object being that there 
shall be no possible mistaking of one compart- 
ment for another. Rule straight lines from each 
compartment to the common center. Now take a 
small button — a shoe-button is as good as any — 
and fasten a bit of fine silk thread about eight 
inches long to it, making a knot in each end of 
the thread. Now let one of the party take the 
thread by the end, and hold it so far above the 
figure that the button shall hang about an inch 
and a half above the paper. Let him fix his mind 




firmly upon one of the compartments, and then pend a plain gold ring on a piece of silk thread in 

close his eyes. Very soon tlie button will develop a a common tumbler, holding the hand and arm 

pendulum-like motion, and before long, generally straight, and thinking of a certain number. It is 

in about three minutes, it will begin to move to- claimed that with the mind concentrated on such 

ward the compartment of which the holder is a number the string will begin to oscillate, and the 

thinking. It really seems, at the first glance, that ring will presently strike against the inner sides 

the button itself is influenced by the unconscious of the glass the number thought of. 

exertion of will on the part of the experimenter. While these experiments are interesting and 

But close investigation will reveal the fact that the afford much amusement, it must be admitted that 

hand moves with a slight tremulous motion, which, they do not always work as they should. It must 

being transmitted through the fine thread, moves be remembered that whether we accept the theon.' 

the button. Much amusement can be had by of involuntary muscular action or attribute the 

putting the names of people in the compartments, results to "will-power," or "animal magnetism," 

and then seeing of which one the experimenter is or "electricity," we are experimenting with forces 

thinking. which the greatest scientists have never been able 

Another experiment of kindred interest is to sus- to explain satisfactorily. 

Bv Marv X. Prescott. 

When the winter works its charms. 
Frost-flowers, just like ferns and palms, 
On the window-panes appear; 
Snow-men muster, far and near ; 
And the river, soon or late, 
Freezes for us boys to skate. 

When the spring-time comes about, 
Woolly buds make haste to pout ; 
Wind-llowers in the woods are blowing; 
Birds have secrets worth the knowing; 
And the wild brooks everywhere 
With their laughter fill the air. 

When the summer months arrive, 
It is good to be alive 1 
There is little left to wish for; 
And a sea of fish to fish for ; 
All the cherries, too, are prime 
In the very nick of time ! 

In the autumn, hips grow red. 
And the milkweed spins its thread; 
Hidden nests all come to light ; 
Leaves and birds are taking flight; 
And we hear Jack Frost astir. 
Splitting every chestnut burr 1 

iSSs. 1 



With a rockifi^ moitoii. 


1. Hush! the waves are roll - ing in, White with foam, while with foam ; 

2. Hush ! the winds roar hoarse and deep, On they come, on they come ; 

3. Hush ! the rain sweeps o'er the Ivnowcs,'-' Where thev roam.wliere ihey come ; 

Fa - ther toils a - mid the din, But ba 
Broth - er seeks the wandering sheep, But ba 
Sis - ter goes to seek the cows, But ])a 

by sleeps at 
by sleeps at 
liy sleep-s at 


1 1 H r- 

. • ^ * ^ \ ' 1 1 


15 u I 

1 R 1 ^ 


ba - by sleeps at 

- • .■ « 

home : 

^ ^ 1 V 

Sleep, sleu]), mj' 

ba - by; 

-0- ' -0- 


-1 ^ 

Sleep, sleep, my ba - by ; 

J , 

..ul - la - bv, mv 


.a - bv, Mv 

precious, \w\ t)\\n. 

-»■ . •*■ 

-1 r 

— "^"^ 

: , • • M 1 ^ - - 

-•■ ■ 

* Hillocks (Scotchl. 

232 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. (Jaxiarv, 


You all 
have seen in 
St. Nich- 
olas the 
building ; 
the Brown- 
the Brown- 
ies sliding ; 
the Brown- 
ies takinof a 
ride ; the 
on a balloon 
vovacre; the 

^ o 

B rownies 
going to 
sea ; — and 
now the 
man shows 
us the com- 
ical little 
fellows trv- 
ing to help 
Jack Frost 
make pict- 
ures on the Avindow-panes ! These Brownies seem to be very hard at 
work, and vcivy much in earnest ; and )-et the pictures on the windows 
do not get on very well. After all, Jack Prost can do his own work best. 
But Brownies are kind and full of fun, and so we always are glad to see 
them, no matter what they try to do. Look at each one of the little 
Brownies in this picture, and if one does not make you laugh, another 
will. Which Brownie, do you think, is the funniest of all ^ 
Now, who can count all these Brownies? 



Happy New Year to you, dear friends, one and 
all ! And now let us see what Rob. C/. McN. 
has to tell us in this letter about 


Dear Jack : I have just read in our weekly paper an account ot 
how in some parts of Scotland a lazy fisherman will make his geese 
catch fish fur him. And this is how he does it. He takes two or 
more strong geese and lies to each one, by the feet, a line with hook 
and bait, all complete. Then he goes to pond or river, as the case 
may be, and sets his geese on the water. "The birds, of course, 
swim out," says our writer, "while the fisherman lights his pipe 
and sits down. In a few minutes a fish sees the bait and seizes it, 
giving the goose a good pull. The bird starts for shore at full tilt, 
frightened half to death, dragging the fish upon the bank, where it 
is unhooked. The line being rebaited, the feathered fisherman is 
again sent out to try its luck. A flock of geese can make quite a 
haul in the course of the day, the human fisherman having only to 
take off the game and bait the hooks, the pulhng in and hooking 
being done by the birds." Now, 1 have my own opinion of this 
kind of a fisherman, and knowing what I do of the satisfaction of 
doing one's own work in the sporting line, I really think the geese 
that swim the water on these occasions have a fellow-goose sitting 
high and dry on the shore. Yours for honest fishing, 

Rr>ii. G. McN-. 


Dear Jack : Wont you ask your birds to tell us something about 
those pretty little lady-apples which are used so much about the 
holiday times V It seems to be almost a different fruit from the ordi- 
nary apples, and it has such a very fine skin and such lovely red 
cheeks that I think it welt deserves its name, — don't you? 

Bessie G. 

My birds tell me that the lady-apple is a 
very delightful fruit and often quite easy for 
tliem to find, but that they consider it something 
of a fraud, as it looks like an enormous white and 
blush cherry and is not a cherry, after all. So the 
only thintr for you to do is to peg away at your ag- 
ricultural books and cy clopaedias. Better still, let 
those report who have seen these lady-apples grow- 
ing. The dear Little School-ma'am tells me that 
she has gathered them many a time, but this is all 
she will say : and as she has been nearly all over 

the world, it does not help us much. The Deacon 
tells me that they often are found in barrels, but 
we want to get only their previous history. 


Talking of apples, the oldest known apple- 
tree in the world is said to be over one hundred 
and seventy years of age. It is one hundred and 
sixty feet high, and is still bearing fine fruit. 1 
am told that formerly five of its limbs bore fruit 
one year and the four other limbs bore the next 
season, thus "taking turns" in the most satisfac- 
tory and amiable manner; but that in the centen- 
nial year the nine limbs of this grand old tree 
all bore fruit at the same time, and that they have 
continued to do so ever since. 

Now, where is this wonderful apple-tree ? Who 
owns it ? and exactly what kind of apple does it 
bear? Can any one tell me? 

Bv W. B. C. 

If all the sea were water 
And all the earth were land : 
The ships would sail on the ocean 
And wagons drive on the sand. 

If fire were always heated 
And ice always congealed; 
We 'd burn up coal to warm us 
And skate the icy field. 

If vinegar were sour 
And sugar tasted sweet . 
The first would make our salad, 
The last our tea complete. 

If the stars could not be counted 
And the sun were dazzling bright; 
We would never know their number 
And the sun would give us light. 

If all the day were daylight 
And all the night were dark ; 
Then men would work in day-time 
And sleep until the lark. 

If money purchased comforts 
And gave its owners ease ; 
Then men would seek for riches 
To spend them as they please. 

If you have read these verses 
And can their meaning see; 
Your time has not been wasted 
And you have guessed their key ! 


Deak jACK-iN-THE-PrLiTi" : I thought you might like to hear or" 
a living curiosity that a friend of mine has. It is a bird without any 
wings I He is quite perfect, with this exception, and seems very 
contented and happy, as he liops merrily about the room. 

Vour constant reader, 

B. D. 


Fort Wavne, Ind. 

Deak Jack: I want tn tell you about a funny incident which 
befell Mamma last spring. Gne stormy night, last May, Mamma 
was just preparing for bed when she heard a queer noise, as if some 
one was throwing dirt against the window. She opened the window 
to look out when in flew a large crow-blackbird; he flew around the 
room and landed on top of the book-case, and stayed there all night. 
He awakened Mamma very early in the morning with his efforts to 
get out. And out he went as soon as she raised the window. I am 
ten years old, and have written this entirely alone. 

With love to the Little School-ma'am and yourself, I remain 
always, your loving reader, Wade W. T. 


J A C K - 1 i\' - Til E - P U L P 1 r 


Dear Jack : I wish to tell you of a curious thing I saw the other 
day. As I was walking in tlie garden, I noticed a pail which had 
not been disturbed for several days. It stood upside down, and on it 
was a flower-pot with the open part resting on the bottom of the 
pail A spider had taken possession of it, spinning a web from some 
light branches to the flower-pot in the shape of a vortex, 
the point of which was around the hole in the top of the 
llower-pot, so that when there were no insects in the web. 
the spider could go down (through the hole in the top) into 
the bottom of the flower-pot, and so be out of sight and where 
no harm could be dune to it by stones or sticks. Don't you 
think that tliis was an approach to reason on the part of the 
spider — his providing for himself a place that he could retire 
to with safety ? Yours respeclfuUv, 

Aleck C. P. 


Columbia, S. C. 
Dear Jack; I write to lell you about a little butterfly. 
When I was in St. Augustine one winter, a litde butterfly 
flew into the room and then dropped down. Mamma looked 
at it and found that the wing was torn almost in two parts 
She stuck a piece of the lightest kind of court-plaster on it 
and put it out of the window. It immediately began to fly 
away. I watched it until it became so small that I could not 
see it any more. I am twelve years old, and I take the St. 
Nicholas and like it very much. 

KiTTiE D. Taylor. 

Here are some answers to the ant ques- 
tion in the November St. NICHOLAS. I 
print Howard's letter first, because letters 
founded on personal observation please me 
best. Herbert's and Mary's letters, however, 
will be found interesting. 

P. S. — M., Edwin Stanley T.j and Sidney 
A. S. also send letters, giving sul^stantially 
the same story. 

Chelsea, Mass.. October 29. 
Dear Jack: In answer to G. M. B.'s query on ants, I 
can say that during this last summer I noticed a small ant 
carrying a dead one larger than itself It carried it up a 
step a foot high and for about three feet on a walk, and then 
disappeared, still carn-ing its burden. 

Ever yours, Kowakd P. X. 

118 Gell St.. Smkffielu, Eni..., November 2, 1884. 

Dear Jack : In answer to a querj- concerning ants, in your 
issue of this month, I send you the following interesting account 
of this solemn performance, which was witnessed by a gentleman, 
who thus describes it : 

"Two of their companions came forward and took up a dead 
body ; then two others followed without any burden. Next came a 
second couple with another dead ant, and so on until there were 
about forty pairs. These were followed by an irregular body of 
some two hundred or more. Occasionally the two laden ants stopped 
and laid down the dead one, which was taken up by the two unbur- 
dened ones behind. Thus, by occasionally relieving each other, 
they arrived at a sandy spot near the sea. Here they dug holes 
with their jaws, into which their companions were laid and carefully 
covered. A funny part of the funeral was the attempt of six or seven 
to shirk the digging These were at once killed by the others. A 
single ^;ive was quickly dug, and they were all dropped into it." 

Hopmg G. M, B. will see this, I remain, yours obediently, 

Hekbekt Ckai'I'ei-;. 

ScHENECTAD'i , N. . November S, 1SS4. 
Dear Jack: In the November Si. Nicholas I read the letter 
from G. M. B. about the ant carrying the dead one. and I have 
tried to find out as much about it as I could : and from what I read 
I gathered that the ants often feed upon animals, and that they ren- 
dered "important service in clearing away every vestige of the flesh 
of dead animals " ; but it did not mention ants in particular. I also 
read in another place that ants " prey upon the flesh. esDecially the 
soft parts, of others"; and so I gathered from it all that, when an 
ant was carried away so, it was taken to some place to be eaten. 

Vour faithful reader, jMarv (aged 13). 

What do you say to this, my friends? Have 
any of you ever seen a cannibal ant, so to speak ; 
and especially a cannibal ant in the very act of 
eating one of his fellow-beings? 


Dear Jack : Will you please ask some of your young naturalist 
friends to give the name of this beetle? 1 made the sketches from 
an insect brought from Mexico by a lady, who told mc that it was 
not uncommon to see them " worn as a sort of live jewel," fastened 
by a pin and liny gold chain to the wearer's dress, as represented in 
my drawing. Victor. 

The Little School-ma'am tells me that she knew 
a young lady in New York City who had one of 
these queer ''jewels." Though the maiden prob- 
ably would have screamed at the sight of any other 
beetle, she wore this pet specimen fastened to her 
dress in just the manner described by Victor in his 
letter. The beetle was of a brownish color varied 
with spots upon its back and head. The young 
lady was very much surprised to tind that it seemed 
to live without eating, and the Little School-ma'am 
says that, although some uncommonly good eyes 
were kept upon him, and the beetle moved about 
slowly, he lived for months without eating a 7'isiblc 
thing ! Did you ever hear of such a case? And 
how do )0u account for it? 

I should say, however, that the young lady's 
beetle was not luminous, or light-giving, as some 
of the Mexican beetles are. \'ictor does not tell 
us whether his beetles were or were not luminous. 


H.vMMdNDsi'CiRT, December. 
Dear Mr. Jack: 1 read in the November Sr. Nichol.xs about 
a mouse that catches flies. We have in our house a singing mouse. 
Its song is something like gurgling water; and sometimes in the 
night he sings so loud as to keep us awake. He is very cunning. 
My mamma has a trap which sometimes we set to catch him, as it 
did not hurt him at all. He will run in the hole, and then he can 
not get out again until we open the door. The funny thing now is 
that when we set this trap we ha\e no more singing till mamma 
takes it away, so we have given up catching him to sing for us. He 
does it better when he can choo'-e his own time for a concert. I am 
eleven years old. Bertie Rose. 





The title uf Mr. Cheney's poem on page 171 of this number is 
sufficiently explained for most young readers by the poem itself, 
and nn boy or girl who is acquainted with the qualities of bass-wood 
will fail to recognize the meaning of the term "Bass-wood Chaps." 
The bass-wood tree is the linden, or "white-wood" tree, and it is 
even called " pumpkin-wood," as it is very soft and white, and 
lacks the strength of the hard woods, such as oak and hickor;-. 

Our apologies are due to two lady contributors for errors of over- 
sight in connection with the poem, "Willow-Ware," which was 
published in our November number. The author's name should 
have appeared, in our Table of Contents, as Louise Trumbull Cogs- 
well, instead of Louise P. Cogswell; and to the statement that 
the poem was illustrated by R. B. Birch, should have been added — 
from designs by Jcanic Lea Sojith-jjick. 

The "Stories of Art and Artists" gi\'en in this number form only 
the first lialf of Mrs. Clement's paper on " Spanish Painting," and 
the second part — a paper giving an account of " Murillo and his 
Works" — will appear in an early issue. 

It should be stated, also, that the engraving of "The Maids of 
Honor," on page 176, represents only the lower portion of Velas- 
quez's famous painting, as it was impossible to present an adequate 

copy of the entire painting within the compass of a single page of 
St. Nicholas. But all the figures and the more important parts 
of the painting are included in the engraving. The omitted por- 
tion represented only the ceiling and the upper walls of the room 
wherein the great artist has pictured the Little Princess, her maids 
of honor, and himself 

All the St. Nicholas boys and girls who read last month Miss 
Edna Dean Proctor's brief biography of the Czarevitch of Russia 
will be interested in the following item, clipped from a newspaper, con- 
cerning the mother of Nicholas Ale.xandrovitch, — Maria Feodorovna, 
the present Empress of Russia. This item, however, appeared a 
few years ago, before she became tlie Empress, and while she was 
Czarevna, or Crown Princess : 

" The Czarevna has four beautiful children — the eldest, Nicholas ; 
the second, George, who bears a striking resemblance to the early 
pictures of Alexander IL ; and two much younger ones, Xenia and 
Michael. She has accompanied her husband to all parts of Euro- 
pean Russia, and has gained the affection of the people, particularly 
of the Poles. In the winter, at the Anitchkov Palace, she has 
an annual Christmas-tree; but it is not invariably the children of the 
nobles who are invited, but a number from the most squalid homes in 
St. Petersburg, recommended by some of the members of a society 
for the relief of distress, and these are always sent away with a good 
stock of warm clothing, as well as the customary presents." 



Dear Old St. Nicholas: I have been taking you in for four 
years. I have a \ ery jolly uncle, who sends you to me every month, 
at school. We all prefer you to any of the English magazines. 1 am 
twelve years old. We all want to hear some more about " The 
Dalzells of Daisydown." I am one of your faithfid readers. 

Florence M. 

Our little English friend will be glad to discover in this number 
of St. Nicholas, "some more about 'The Dalzells of Daisydown,'" 
and we trust their adventures on an ice-yacht will prove as interest- 
ing as the doings of the young people when they were at Dalzell 

RocKFORD, WiL., Del., i88.^. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for a great many years, 
but I have never written to you before, so I hope you will find a 
place in the Letter-box for this. I have a great many pets, the 
nicest one being a pony, of which 1 am \ery fond. I have a beau- 
tiful home on the Brandywine creek, about two miles out of Wil- 
mington. For the last ten years some of our friends have had a 
picnic on the Fourth of July on the grounds around our house. 
Ever>'body provides something, and my papa has a large table put 
up on the lawn, on which they spread the dinner, and altogether we 
have great fun. I enjoy reading your stories ver\' much. I think 
the " Spinning-wheel Stories" and "Historic Boys" are two of 
your nicest stories. Your faithful reader, LiLLlE R. B. 

Presque Isle, Maine. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have long intended to write to you and 
tell you how much I enjoy your delightful pages, but I have never 
done so before. I think the " Spinning-wheel Stories" are ver^' inter- 
esting. In fact, all of Miss Alcott's works are charming. " Uncle 
Russell's Floral Letter" was very pretty. He must be a nice uncle. 
I think I have never seen a letter to the St. Nicholas from so far 
north. We have very cold winters here, but the summers are 
pleasant. I love to read the letters in the Letter-box, and wish I 
might have the pleasure of seeing all the boys and girls. I send my 
love to them and to you, too, dear St. Nichol.^s. I do hope you 'II 
find room to print this letter. Yours very truly, Clover. 

St. Thomas, Dak., October, 1S84. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I sec so many hoys and girls writing to 
you, and I have resolved to follow their example. I would say, 
what a great many have said before me: "St. Nicholas is the 
nicest magazine I ever saw." Papa liked the story of " The Tinkham 

Brothers' Tide-mill," and he used to be as anxious as I for your 
magazine to come. I have no brothers or sisters to enjoy reading 
it with me, but my papa and mamma like it ver>' much, I liked 
your " Floral Letter," but yuu did not print the answer m the Octo- 
ber number. I think I have the answer. This is the first time I 
have written to you, and I have taken you three years. I think I 
will close, as you have a great many correspondents, I am sure. 

Your twelve-year old subscriber, Helen S. 

Here is a pair of letters from two sisters living in jMontevideo : 

Montevideo, August, 1884. 

Mv Dear St. Nicholas: I have dolls like Kittie R , but 

mine are all girls. My youngest is Lily ; of course she is the most 
spoiled. She is four. Then comes ^laijorie. She has just come 
from France. Then Violet, and then the oldest is Helen Edith. She 
plays the piano very well. I like the Stories for " Very Little 
Folk." I am not so fond of books as Maud; my pet books are 
" The Children of the New Forest" and " What Katie Did." I 
am a little Irish girl, but I don't remember Ireland nor England, 
because I have been in Montevideo so long. They all talk Spanish 
here. How nice it would be to hear everj- one talk English, as they 
do at home or in the States. I am your friend, 

Mary Ida J. 

Montevideo, August, 1884. 
My Dear St. Nicholas: I like your book ^ery much. I was 
verjr much interested in " The Hoosier School-boy " and " An Old- 
fashioned Thanksgiving." We live in winter at iMontevideo; in 
summer we go to the sea-side, and ha\-e very good fun down there. 
I am six years old. We have a beautiful large azotea. which means 
a flat roof on the house, with a low wall surrounding it. We have 
pigeons up there, and there was a little ostrich, but he died; and 
we had ducks and chickens up there, too, and a great many ban- 
tams. The other houses here Iiave roofs like that, but some little 
wee houses have slanring roofs. I suppose you have slanting roofs, 
like those in " Punch," and St. Nichol.\s pictures. I did n't write 
this letter. Koten, my sister, did it for me, but I said the words. 

I am your little friend, El.^ine Macd J. 

We must return our thanks for pleasant letters received from 
the following young friends : Helen Russ, IMary Russ, Sarah Russ, 
George Yost. A. Johannsen, Arthur C. Eddy, Ernestine Haskell, 
Genevieve Cummins, Lily P. Cobb, Mamie Hatcher Ferguson, 
Freddie H., Victor W. Ferris, W. C. S., Helen L. C, Willfe Du- 
lany, S. K. M., Belle, Melville F , Coralie N. Kenfield, Percy Weir 
Arnold, Jessie R., Bessie Rhodes, I\Iiss K. Victor^-, and D. I\L W. 




The latest number mi our register of members of the A. A. is 
8099. The latest Chapt'jr formed is number 730. Philadelphia has 
the honor of having formed a larger number of Chapters than any 
other city. 

The letters of the alphabet have been exhausted, and we have 
begun again with " A' " and " B ." Chicago is not far behind, hav- 
ing a " W " branch, and New York has reached " Q." We record 
the following: 

New Chapters. 


JVawe. jVo. 0/ Members. 

Deep River, Conn. (A) . . 

Geneva, N. Y. (B) 

Milwaukee, Wis. (D) 

Philadelphia, Pa. (A). 

720 Prairie Du Sac, Wis. (A) , - 

721 Philadelphia, Pa. (B'). . 

722 St. Luuis Mo. (E) 

723 Hopkinton, Mass. (A) . . . . 

724 Jewett City, Conn. (A).. 

725 Colorado Springs, Col. (B) 

726 Millingion, N. J. (A) 

727 Milwaukee, Wis. (E) 

728 Binghamton, N. Y. (A). .. 

729 Boston, Mass, (F) 

730 Council Bluffs, Iowa (A)., 

1316 So. 

13. .John L.Deartng. 
10.. Arthur I. Hammond. 
12. .J. C. Drake, 274 24th Street. 
7. -A. N. Seal, 141S Bouvier 
15. ,N. H. Burdlc. 
6..EIlwood Carpenter, 865 N. 

1 6th Street. 
6 . Ed. Strassburger, 
Ewing Avenue. 
5.. Geo. W, Chandler. 
;;5. .Charles E. Prior. 
24 . . ( >rlin Hemenway. 
22. - Miss Emilie Schumacher. 
4 . . Miss Agnes Lydon, 125 Huron 

5..Chas. F. Hotchkin. 
4. .Miss Alice D. Heustis, 20 Mc- 
Lean Street. 
4. .L. E. Empkie, log Main Street. 



Newport, R. I. (A) F. J. Cotton. 

Galesburgh, 111. (A) C. F. Gettemy. 

Dorchester, Mass Miss Miriam Badlam. 

Galesburgh, III. (B) C. F. Gettemy. 

8 Philadelphia (A). 

4..H. Crawley, 307 Arch Street. 

Exchange Llst. 

Caddis cases, for offers. — James C. Myers, Columbia, Pa. 

California marine, land, and fresh-water shells, wanted in ex- 
change for shells from other places. Correspondence desired with 
all interested in conchology. — Please send list to Thomas Morgan, 
Somerville, N. J. (Somerset Co.) 

Rattlesnakes' rattles, minerals, and eggs, for minerals. — Charles 
T. Ennis, Lyons, Wayne Co., N. Y. 

Correspondence, with a view to exchange. — H. W. Fenno, Sec. 
Ch. 24, Mattappn, Mass. 

Birds' Eggs and Minerals. Please write before sending speci- 
mens. — Miss May B. Ladel, Spencer, Mass. 

Spathic Iron Ore, Serpentine, Petrosilex, and Starfish, for geode. 
irilobite, malachite, etc. — Miss Sadie True, Salisbury, Essex Co , 

Changgp Aduioesses. 

146. (/'). In answer to the question, " Which is the largest flower 
in the world ? " I send a description of the Rnfflcsia Arnoldi, It is 
found in the island of Sumatra, growing upon the creeping roots 
of a plant known as the Cissns lianas. Its flowers first appear as a 
succession tif rough knobs, rising along the low roots of the cissus. 
At first as small as a hazel-nut, these buds finally reach the size of a 
small head of cabbage. The brown blossom bursts out with over- 
lapping petals. As the gigantic flower (from twenty-four to fony 
inches in diameter) expands, the thick, pulpy, flesh-colored petals 
diffuse a repulsi\e odor and quickly decay. — Hiram H. Bice, Utica, 
N. Y. 

146. Flics. — How do flies alight on the ceiling? Do they turn 
themselves over in the air so as to bring their feet uppermost? or 

how ? 

147. Snails. — Papa and I possess a "snailcvy," as we call it. 
We have snails in all stages of growth, from the spawn with a small 
dot in the middle, to an old patriarch that we have as school- 
master to keep the young snails out of mischief. 

148. Prairie-dogs. — In answer to the question, " What is the food 
of prairie-dogs ? " they live on grnss roots. 'I his kills the grass 
around their burrows, so that they are often compelled to move and 
dig others near fresh grass. The burrowing-owl lakes possession ol 
the abandoned holes. A pair of caged prairie-dogs were raised on 
cabbage-leaves and corn. — Frank H. Wilcox, Parker, Colorado. 

149. Sgidrrt'ls Drinking. — Our pet squirrels (a red and a gray) 
both drink water. I wonder how wild squirrels can get water in 
winter — Estella E. Clark. 

150. Lca/'Tollers. — I spent a whole morning, and many more 
might well be spent, in examining the=e strange inb^ecis Some 
rolled the leaf, and ate all except the ribs and \cins. Some 
drew the edges of the leaf together and ate them away. These 
formed trumpet-like houses of various shapes. Some ate out oval 
pieces from the leaf, and then crawled in and fastened the edges 
together. Others ate the leaf in long lines, forming curious patterns. 
All these specimens seem to have a liking (or a hatred) for the maple 
and the beech — F. V. Corregan. 

151. Sivarins of A rchippus. — One day in September I saw swarms 
and swarms of great archippus butterflies flying toward the south. 
At first I thought they were birds. I watched them for an hour. 
Some of tliem flew so high that they were almost out of sight. Do 
butterflies migrate ? — Arthur Espy, CUfton, Ohio. 

152. What bird is it? — Seven and a quarter inches in length: 
wing, three and three-quarters ; bill, three-quarter inch ; tarsus, 
three-quarter inch. Sides of neck and breast, ye'low ; a black line 
on throat from bill to breast ; upper part of head, yellowish olive ; 
back and wings, dusky : under part, dirty white : upper part of tail 
and tail coverts, yellowish olive ; under part of tail, yellow ; bill, sharp 
and nearly straight. — Frank H. Wilcox, Parker, Colorado. 

153. DragOJi-JJy pnpa. — I kept the pupa of a dragon-fly in a 
glass of water, containing a little stick on which it might climb out. 
It lived on flies, which came down the stick to drink. It remained 
just below the surface of the water, on the side of the stick, and 
when a fly came within reach it suddenly drew it into the water and 
devoured it. — Alonzo H. Stewart, Washington, D. C. 

154. Katydid eggs. — I watched some katydid eggs hatch. The 
eggs split, and the top opened like a cover — G. Wilson Eeaitj'. 

155. Plectrodera Scalator. — One of our beetles {PLrtfodcra 
Scalator, Fab.), found by me in a log, is the first one found in the 
District of Columbia. It is a nati\e of Texas, — A. H. S. 

156. Iniclligencc of Ants. — I am no longer skeptical in regard 
to the intelligence of ants. In lifting a stone, a large ants' nest was 
exposed. I made an experiment. I laid a stick on some of ihc 
Iar\'a;, so that they could be seen, but could not be pulled out. After 
trj'ing in vain to pull them out, the ants went in a body to one end 
of the stick, and, by a combined mo\ement in the same direction, 
pulled off the stick, and carried away the lar\'32. — G. W. B. 

Please change my address from P, O. Box 10S6, Norwich, Conn., 
to 65 Washington Street, Norwich, Conn. A. L. Aitken, Ch. 616. 

Address of R. S. Cross, Sec. Ch. 601, is changed from West Point, 
Miss., to Purvis. Miss. 

Secretary of Ch. i£'6, Geneva, New York, is now F. D. Reed. 


146. Largest Fb'y':oer — (a). In your report for October. I noticed 
the_ question, " What is the largest flower in the world ? " There is a 
resident of this city who has in his garden a Victoria Regia, which 
is considered one of the largest flowers in the world Its leaves are 
five feet in diameter. Last Sunday it was open, and there were a 
great many who witnessed the beautiful sight. There is also an 
old-fashioned magnolia, which measures almost the same as the Vic- 
toria Regia.— Alice T. Palfrey, 230 4th Street, New Orieans, La. 

Rei'orts fro:\i Ctiatters. — Friends. 

653, Providence, C. We ha\'e increased from 3 members to 9. 
Our president has an enormous collection of minerals — about 1200 
specimens. He has been collecting only a year and a half — F. S. 
Phillips, Sec. 

575, Spencer, Mass. We are doing finely. There are 15 of us, 
and all are enthusiastically at work. Our essays and talks have 
been so successful that we are going to have debates. We all feel 
that we are having a profitable and enjoyable w inter. — May B. 
Ladd, Sec. 

679, De Pere, Wis. (E). Our Chapter has grown so that we now 
have 16 members, and all seem to take a great deal of interest. We 
have been studying snails pretty thoroughly, and have found about 
thirty kinds from Fo.xshire alone. Next summer we intend to make 
excursions to all parts of the countr\'. — B. L. Parker. Sec 



612, Urbana, Ohio (C). We have a growing and flourishing 
circle of little people, between the ages of six and fifteen, under the 
guidance of two faithful mothers. We have been studying the com- 
mon things so essential to life and comfort, and of which we knew 
so little. Wood, coal, paper, salt, pepper, tea, coffee, spices, have 
a new interest since we learned of their origin and nature. We bid 
all our friends of the A. A. ''God-speed" in the delightful work. — 
E. M. S. Houston, Sec. 

256, Newton Upper Falls, Mass. In reporting for our Chapter, I 
have nothing but encouragement to give. We have increased in 
numbers, and our meetings in interest. Each member pursues his 
favorite branch of natural science 

At each meeting, an original paper, called GatJiermgs, is read, 
for the most part describing something actually observed by our 
members. At every other meeting questions are distributed, and 
answered at the next meeting. 

We have visited the Agassiz Museum, at Cambridge, and now 
the Newton Chapters are planning to hold a united meeting. — Mr>. 
A. A. Smith, Sec. 

314, Lancaster, Pa. We have taken several steps upward. We 
have adopted the scrap-book system spoken of at the Convention. — 
E. R. Heitshu, Sec. 

601, Purvis, Miss. We have found by experience that a note- 
book is invaluable. — R. S. Cross, Sec. 

564, Santa Rosa, Cal. Four of our members spent six weeks in 
camp by the ocean, last summer, and collected many fine specimens 
— for example: star-fish, about 150 specimens; 50 sea-urchins : 25 
sponges; shells, about 225; marine algse, 500 specimens; insects, 
^50 — total, 1600. Our Chapter is progressing, and we are now think- 
ing of procuring a room. — Wilbur M. Swctt. Sec. 

136, Columbia, Pa. Our Chapter is in a better condition than 
ever before. After the vacation we reorganized, with the deter- 
mination of making our society a success. We sent a committee 
before the school board to ask for a room. The request was granted. 
We collected a sum sufficient to purchase an $18 cabinet and chairs 
for the room. We have twenty-three active members, all of whom 
are very enthusiastic. Our collection is rapidly increasing. We have 
a regular programme for each meeting. — James C. Myers, Sec. 

The Snow-crvstal Pki?,e. 
In answer to several questioners : 

1. It is not necessary to give the exact velocity of the wind. State 
whether there is a violent, strong, or moderate wind, or none. 

2. Instruments may be used in making the drawings. 

3. Each competitor may send as many more than the required 
number as he wishes. 

4. None but members of the A. A. may compete. 

As an experiment, the reports given above have been drawn from 
my pigeon-hole quite at random. Can any one doubt, after reading 
them, that our A. A. is growing rapidly in strength and enthusiasm ? 

It would be an assistance in preparing our monthly report, if the 
secretaries would write their natural history notes, and the report of 
the doings of their Chapters on separate pages, following in a gene- 
ral way the models here given. 

President's address : Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of T.enox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 



Each ot the words described contains five letters. When rightly 
arranged, — not in the order here given, — the initials, reading down- 
ward, will spell the name of an American poet; and the third row 
of letters, reading upward, will spell the name of an English poet. 

Cross- Words: i. Consequendy. 2. Makes smooth by pressing. 
3. Aji insurgent. 4. A person — usually a mischievous one. 5. A 
cloth for wiping the hands. 6. One devoid of understanding. 7. 
Blunder. 8. To color sligliily. bertha c. 



How MANY and what letters of the alphabet are concealed in the 
foregoing diagram ? s. a. s, 


I, Syncopate a fruit, and leave to yawn. 2. Syncopate food, and 
leave formed by education. 3. Syncopate to weave, and leave a 
nail. 4. Syncopate to fetch, and leave a vessel with two masts. 5. 
Syncopate a piece of furniture, and leave a narration. 6. Syncopate 
discovered, and leave capital. 7. Syncopate oscillation, and leave to 
utter melodious sounds. 

The syncopated letters will spell the name of something occasion- 
ally seen in summer. patience. 


If from my Jiisi my second you take, 

My ivholc you do attam ; 
If to my first my second you join^ 

My ivlwle you have again. w. h. a. 


I am composed of seventj- letters, and am a couplet from Pope's 
" Essay on Criticism." 

My 44-25-66-26-38-42 is gloomy. I^Iy 47-15-21-6-24 is to walk 
in a pompous way. My 64-34-11-59-70 is a young person. My 
8-68-27-63 is part of a stocking. My 41-14-12-39-48-17-67 is a 
bed or layer. My 49-20-31-33-13 are troublesome to gardeners. 

My 37-29-46-4-22-1-58-23 is to forbid. My 36-3-65-51-45 is a 
seat without a back. My 57-61-53-7-18-16-56 are rags. I\Iy ig- 
43-69-30-5-32 is one who gains favors by flattery. My 52-9-54 is 
a large body of water. My 50-35-62-60-55 is abounding with hills. 
My 10-40-28-2 is a small wind-instrument used chiefly to accom- 
pany a drum. "CORNELLS BLIMBER." 


Smope, kilc rustpice, rea fo tefidfern torss, 
Mose treteb ta a snadtice, stoher earn; 
Mose velo het kard, mose hoosec het searclet tilgh, 
Dan lydobl angelchle eth stmo cierping yee ; 
Mose sealep orf noce, mose liwl reevrof sleepa. 



The letters of each of the anagrams here given maybe transposed 
to form the name of an important citj'. 

I. Ipsar. 2. Donoln. 3. More. 4. Erbnii. 5. Damdir. 6. 
Noblis. 7. Yenkowr 8. Amsdar. 9. Pilrolveo. 10. Vedren. 11. 
Tiasun. 12. Tatucalc. j. c. H. 


I. A CHI RCH festival occurring in January. 2. A Sound in the 
east part of North Carolina. 3. To inclose within walls. 4. A 
feather. 5. To engage, 6. A single point on a card or die. 7. A 
word of negation. 8. A vowel. pennywig. 


This differs from the ordinary cross-word enigma by requiring 
two answers instead of one. The first letter of each answer is " In 
Nathan but not in Will," the second " In Walter but not in Bill,'-' 
and so on until the two answers have been spelled. The first answer 
is a time for merr>'-making, and also the name of a play by Shake- 
speare ; the second answer is a pleasant greeting. 

In Nathan, not In Will; 
In Walter, not in Bill; 
In Stephen, not in Lon ; 
In Alphin, not in John; 
In Fanny, not in Sue; 
In Tina, not in Lou; 
In Henry, not in Nick; 
In Newton, not in Dick ; 
In Milly, not in Ann; 
In Gertrude, not in Nan 
In Martha, not in Poll; 

In Chester, not in Sol. c\'ril de.^n'E. 



of dots in the foregoing diagram. The central letters, reading from 
the bottom upward, will spell the name of n famous American born 
in January, many years ago. He is the author of the rebuff on th*; 


The centrals, reading downward, name a certain kind of 

Cross-words : i. Problems. 2. Seasoning. 3. Era. 4. 
In cognizant. 5, The gfid of shepherds. 6 Attendants. 7. 
A gift. i TiEi;. 



Place the names of the eight objects around the kite in such a 
way that the number of their letters will correspond to the number 

Frame : From r to 2, a name by which the frost-weed is 
' sometimes called ; from 3 to 4, a storm with falling snow : 
from 5 to 6, a shop where books are kept for sale ; from 
7 to S, nameless. 
Included Word-sqi'are : 1. The name of a cold substance, 
crystals of which late in autumn shoot from the cracked bark of 
the plant named by the letters from i to 2. 2. To study. 3. To 
terminate. J. I'- n. 


I. 1. A color, 2. A regulation. 3. A girl's name. 4. A 
division of time. II. i. To be conveyed. 2. A notion. 3. Beloved- 

4, A title of nobility. III. i. False. 2. Robust. 3. A plant 
found in warm countries. 4. To encounter. 

"blossom" A'Sli C. G. E. 


The cross-words are of iniequal length. 

I. The primals and finals each name a philosopher who died 
recently: one an Englishman, one an American. 

Cross-words: i. To long for. 2. Fright. 3. A train of attend- 
ants. 4. An animal resembling a monkey, peculiar to Madagascar. 

5. The edible roots of a creeping plant. 6. A place of restraint. 
7. Release. 

II. The primals will name the home of the philosopher named by 
the primals of the foregoing acrostic ; the finals will name the home 
of the philosopher named by the finals of the previous acrostic. 

Cross-words: i. A fine, thin fabric. 2. A man of distinguished 
valor. 3. To surround. 4. Concise. 5. A dry starch prepared 
from the pith of certain palms. 6. A kind of duck, 7. One of the 
small planets whose orbit is situated between those of Mars and 
Jupiter. DYClE. 


Christmas Puzzle. In hoc signo vinces {Under this standard Synxopations. Saint Nicholas. Cross-words: i. mi-Scar-ry. 

thou shalt conquer). 1. Idol. 2. Nose. 3. Helm. 4. Owls. 5. 2. w-Arm-ing, 3. s-lmp-ly. 4. con-Not-e. 5. do-Tag-e. 6. 

sCow. 6. iSle. 7. mice. 8. oGee. 9. boNe. jo. roOf. 11. ton-Nag-e. 7. m-Inn-ow. S. s-Cream-ing. 9. w-Her-e. 10. 

hiVe. 12. coll. 13. chiN. 14. chiC. 15. treE. 16. tarS. m-Omen-t. 11. s-Lop-py. 12. p-Ant-ry. 13. re-Serve-d. 

Double Cross-word Enigma. Nativity, Yule-tide. Half-square, i. Bigoted. 2. Imaged. 3. Gaged. 4. Ogee. 

Peculiar Acrostics. Christmas, Mistletoe. Cross- words; i. 5. Ted. 6. Ed. 7. D. 
beCalMed. 2. beHavIng. 3. caResSed. 4. prImaTes. 5. Diamond, i. D. 2. Sir. 3. Meres. 4. Selects. 5. Direction. 

asSaiLed. 6. caTerErs. 7. coMpuTer. 8. drAgoOns. g. As- 6. Rectify. 7. Stiff. S. Soy. 9. N. 

SayErs. Charade. Mistify. Diagonals. Hellebore. Cross-words: i. Holly. 2. sEver. 3. 

Beheadings. Alcott. Cross-words: i. A-lack. 2. L-edge. saLvo. 4. ambLe. 5. cablE. 6. DerBy. 7. flOod. S. cRypi. 

3. C-reed. 4. 0-zone. 5. T-heir. 6. T-hump. 9. Exalt. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-bo.\," care of The Century Co.. 33 East Seventeenth street. New York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the December number, from Bella 
and Cora Web 1, Frankfort, Germany, 6— Edward F. Milthorp, i. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the November Number were received, before No\'ember 20, from Millie Ward — Harrison G. — 
Kathie Leets— Thomas C. Wilford —" Andrew Aguecheek " — S. N. R.— Maggie T. Turrill — Lucy M. Bradley— Fred Thwails — 
Harry M. Wheelock. 

Answers to Puzzles in the November Number were received, before November 20, from Blanche D., i — James D. Sparkman, 
jr., I — A. and S. Livingston, t — Gracie S. P., i — Paul Reese, 9 — Effie K. Talboys, 4 — Will F. Lutz, 2 — Bob Howard, 2 — Hessie 
D. Boylston, i — "Neptune." 6 — Carrie H. Cooper, 4 — A. L. Zeckendorf, i — Willie Trautwine, 4 — Harrj' G. Light, 6 — AIe.\. Laid- 
law, I — Kittie Greenwood Darling. 5 — Anna K. Bultard. 5 — Albert J. Sullivan. 3 — Nicodemus, 3 — Vici. i — F. W. Islip, 9 — Hugh 
and Cis, 9 — Ida and Edith, 6 — ¥S. Muriel Grundv. 7 — " Rex and I." i — Ida Maude Preston, q — James Connor. 4 — Willie Sheraton, 
2 — George Habenicht, i — "Wanderers of the L. C," 1 — Jennie Balch, i — Jen and Edie, i — " The D. P. of the L. G. G. S." i — Alice 

C. Schoonmaker, i. 

" Thosh four youngsters of Jack's" wish that Uncle Theophilus Phipps's memory was as good as his intentions; and little 
number five, whom Uncle T. P. has never heard of, thinks the world has all gone wrong. 




Vol. XII. FEBRUARY, 1885. No. 4. 

[Copyright, 1885, by The CENTURY CO.] 

By E. p. Roe. 

Chapter I. 


" Where are the children ? " 

"They can't be far away," replied my wife, 
looking up from her preparations for supper. 
" Bobsey was here a moment ago. As soon as 
my back is turned he 's out and away. I have n't 
seen Merton since he brought his books from 
school, and 1 suppose Winnie is upstairs in the 
Daggetts' apartment." 

" I wish, my dear, you could keep the children 
at home more," I said, a little petulantly. 

"I wish you would go and find them for me 
now, and to-morrow would take my place — for 
just one day," she replied. 

" Well, well," I said, with a laugh that had no 
mirth in it; "only one of your wishes stands 
much chance of being carried out. I '11 find the 
children now, if I can without the aid of the police. 
Mousie, do you feel stronger to-night ? " 

These words were spoken to a pale-faced girl of 
fourteen, who appeared to be scarcely more than 
twelve, so diminutive was her frame. 

"Yes, Papa," she replied, a faint smile flitting 
like a ray of light across her features. She always 
said she was better, but still she was nex-er well ; 
and her quiet ways and tones had led to the house- 
hold name of " Mousie." 

As I was descending the narrow stair-way, I 
was almost overthrown by a torrent of children 
pouring down from the flats above. In the dim 
Vol. Xll. — i6. 

light of a gas-burner I saw that Bobsey was one 
of the reckless atoms. He had not heard my 
voice in the uproar, and before I could reach him, 
he, with the others, had burst out at the street 
door and was dashing toward the nearest corner. 
It seemed that he had slipped away in order to take 
part in a race, and I found him "squaring off" at 
a bigger boy, who had tripped him up. Without 
a word I carried him home, followed by the jeers 
and laughter of the racers, the girls making their 
presence known, in the early December twilight, 
by the shrillness of their voices and by manners 
no gentler than those of the boys. 

I put down the child — he was only seven )'ears of 
age — in the middle of our general living-room, 
and looked at him. His little coat was split out 
in the back ; one of his stockings, already well 
darned at the knees, was past remedy ; his hands 
were black, and one was bleeding ; his w-hole little 
body was throbbing from excitement, anger, and 
violent exercise. As I looked at him quietly, the 
defiant expression in his eyes began to give place 
to tears. 

" There is no use in punishing him now," said 
my wife. " Please leave him to me and find the 

" I was n't going to punish him," I said. 

"What are you going to do? What makes 
you look at him so ? " she asked. 

" He 's a problem I can't solve — with the given 
conditions," I replied. 

" Oh, Robert ! you drive me half wild. If the 
house were on fire, you 'd stop to follow out some 




train of thought about it. I 'm tired to death. 
Do bring the children home. M'hen we 've put 
them to bed, you can figure on your problem, and 
I can sit down." 

As I went up to the Daggetts' flat, I was dimly 
conscious of another problem. My wife was grow- 
ing fretful and nervous. Our rooms would not 
have satisfied a Dutch housewife ; but if " order is 
heaven's first law," a little of paradise was in them 
when compared with the Daggetts' apartments. 

" Yes," I was told, in response to my inquiries: 
" Winnie is in the bedroom with Mclissy." 

The door was locked, and after some hesitation 
the girls opened it. As we were going down-stairs 
I caught a glimpse of a newspaper in my girl's 
pocket. She gax-e it to me reluctantly, and said 
" Melissy " had lent it to her. I told her to help her 
mother prepare supper while I went to find Merton. 
Opening the paper under a street-lamp, I found it 
to be a cheap, vile journal, full of the flashy pict- 
ures that so often offend the eye on news-stands. 
With a chill of fear, I thought: " Another prob- 
lem." The Daggett children had been down with 
the scarlet fever a few months before. " But here 's 
a worse infection," I reflected. " Thank heaven, 
Winnie is only a child, 
and can't understand 
these pictures; " and I 
tore up the paper, and 
threw it into its proper 
place — the gutter. 

" Now," I muttei'ed, 
" I 've only to find Mer- 
ton in mischief to make 
the evening's experi- 
ence complete." 

In mischief I did find 
him, — a very harmful 
kind of mischief, it ap- 
peared to me. Merton 
was little over fifteen, 
and he and two or three 
other lads were smok- 
ing cigarettes which, to 
judge by their odor, 
must certainly have 
been made from the 
sweepings of the manu- 
facturer's floor. 

" Can't you find any- 
thing better than that to do after school ?" I asked, 
severely, as I called Merton to my side. 

" Well, sir," was the sullen reply, " I 'd like to 
know what there is for a boy to do in this street." 

During the walk home, I tried to think of an 
answer to his implied question. What would I do 
if I were in Merton's place ? I confess that I was 


puzzled. After sitting in school all day, he must 
do something that the policeman would permit. 
There certainly seemed very little range of action 
for a growing boy. Should I take him out of 
school and put him into a shop or an office ? If I did 
this, his education would be sadly limited. More- 
over, he was tall and slender for his age, and upon 
his face there was a pallor which I dislike to see in 
a boy. Long hours of business would be very 
hard upon him, even if he could endure the strain 
at all. The problem which had been pressing on 
me for months — almost years — grew urgent. 

With clouded brows we sat down to our modest 
little supper, Winifred, my wife, was hot and 
flushed from too near acquaintance with the stove, 
and wearied by a long day of toil in a room that 
would be the better for a gale of wind. Bobsey, 
as we called my little namesake, was absorbed — 
now that he was relieved from the fear of punish- 
ment — by the wish to "punch" the boy who had 
tripped him up. Winnie was watching me fur- 
tively, wondering what had become of the paper, 
and what I thought of it. Merton was somewhat 
sullen, and a little ashamed of himself 1 felt my 
"problem" was to .give these children something 
to do that \\-ould not harm them, for do something 
they certainly would. They were rapidly attain- 
ing that age when the shelter of a narrow city flat 
would not answer ; when the influence of a crowded 
house and of the street might be greater than any 
we could bring to bear upon them. 

I looked about upon the little group for whom 
I was responsible. My will was still law to them. 
While my wife had positive little ways of her own, 
she would agree to any decided course that I re- 
solved upon. The children were yet under entire 
control, so that I sat at the head of the table, com- 
mander-in-chief of the little band. 

We called the narrow flat we lived in " home ! " 
The idea ! with the Daggetts above and the Rick- 
ctts on the floor beneath ! It was not a home, and 
was scarcely a fit camping-ground for such a fam- 
ily squad as ours ; yet we had staid on for years 
in this long, narrow line of rooms, reaching from 
a crowded street to a little back-yard full of noisy 
children by day, and noisier cats by night. I had 
often thought of moving, but had failed to find a 
better shelter that was within my very limited 
means. The neighborhood was respectable, so 
far as a densely populated region can be. It 
was not far remo\'ed from my place of business, 
and my work often kept me so late at the office that 
we could not live in a suburb. The rent was moder- 
ate for New York, and left me some money, after 
food and clothing were provided, for occasional 
little outings and pleasures, which I believe to be 
needed by both body and mind. 



While the children were little — so long as they 
would "stay put" in the cradle or on the floor — 
we did not have much trouble. Fortunately, I had 
good health, and, as my wife said, was " handy with 
children." Therefore I could help her in the care 
of them at night, and she had kept much of her 
youthful bloom. Heaven had blessed us. We 
had met with no serious misfortunes, nor had any 
of our number been often prostrated by prolonged 
and dangerous illness. But during the last year 
my wife had been growing thin, and occasionally 
her voice had a sharpness which was new. Every 
month, Bobsey became more hard to manage. 
Our living-room was to him like a cage to a wild 
bird, and slip away he would, to his mother's 
alarm ; for he was almost certain to get into mischief 
or trouble. The effort to perform her household 
tasks and watch over him was more wearing than 
it had been to rock him through long hours at 
night when he was a teething baby. 

These details seem very homely, no doubt, yet 
such as these largely make up our lives. Comfort 
or discomfort, happiness or unhappiness, springs 
from them. There is no crop in the country so 
important as that of boys and girls. How could I 
manage my little home-garden in a flat ? 

I looked thoughtfully from one to another, as 
with children's appetites they became absorbed in 
one of the chief events of the day. 

"Well," said my wife, querulously, "how are 
you getting on with your problem ? " 

" Take this extra bit of steak, and I '11 tell you 
after the children are asleep," I said. 

" I can't eat another mouthful," she exclaimed, 
pushing back her almost untasted supper. " Broil- 
ing the steak was enough for me." 

" You are cjuite tired out, dear," I said, very 

Her face softened immediately at my tone, and 
tears came into her eyes. 

" I don't know what is the matter with me," 
she faltered. " I am so nervous some days that I 
feel as if I should fly to pieces. I do try to be 
patient, but I know I 'm growing cross." 

" Oh, now. Mamma ! " spoke up warm-hearted 
Merton. " The idea of your being cross ! " 

"She /> cross," Bobsey cried; " she boxed my 
ears this very day." 

"And you deserved it," was Merton's retort. 
" It 's a pity they are not boxed oftener. " 

"Yes, Robert, I did," continued my wife, sor- 
rowfully. " Bobsey ran away four times, and 
vexed me beyond endurance, — that is, such en- 
durance as I have left, — which does n't seem to be 
very much." 

"I understand, dear," I said. " You are apart 
of my problem, and you must help me solve it." 

Then I changed the subject decidedly, and soon 
brought sunshine to our clouded household. Chil- 
dren's minds are easily diverted; and my wife, 
whom a few sharp words would have greatly irri- 
tated, was soothed, and her curiosity awakened as 
to the subject of my thoughts. 

And think deeply 1 did while she and Winnie 
cleared away the dishes and put Bobsey into his 
little crib. I felt that the time for a decided change 
had come, and that it should be made before the 
evils of our lot brought sharp and real trouble. 

How should I care for my household ? If I had 
been living on a far frontier among hostile Indians, 
I should have known better how to protect them. 
I could build a house of heavy logs and keep my 
rifle always near while at work. But it seemed to 
me that Melissa Daggett and her kin with their 
flashy papers, and the influence of the street for 
Merton and Bobsey, involved more danger to my 
little band than all the scalping Modocs that ever 
whooped. The children could not step outside the 
door without danger of meeting some one who 
would do them harm. It is the curse of crowded 
city life that there is so little of a natural and at- 
tractive sort for a child to do, and so much of evil 
close at hand. 

My wife asked me humorously for the news. 
She saw that I was not reading my paper, and my 
frowning brow and firm lips proved that my prob- 
lem was not of a trifling nature. She suspected 
nothing more, however, than that I was thinking 
of taking rooms in some better locality, and she 
was wondering how I could do it ; for she knew 
that my income now left but a small surplus above 

At last Winnie too was ready to go to bed, and 
I said to her, gravely : 

" Here is money to pay Melissa for that paper; 
it was only fit for the gutter, and in the gutter I 
put it. I wish you to promise me never to look at 
such pictures again, or you can never hope to grow 
up to be a lady like Mamma." 

The child flushed deeply, and went tearful and 
penitent to bed ; and Mousie also retired with a 
wistful look upon her face, for she saw that some- 
thing of grave importance occupied my mind. 

No matter how tired my wife might be, she was 
never satisfied to sit down until the room had 
been put in order, a green cloth spread upon 
the supper-table, and the student-lamp placed in 
its center. 

Merton brought his school-books, my wife took 
up her mending, and we three sat down within the 
circle of light. 

" Don't do any more work to-night," I said, 
looking into my wife's face, and noting for a few 
moments that it was losing its rounded lines. 




Her hands dropped wearily into her lap, and 
she began, gratefully : 

'■ I 'm glad you speak so kindly to-night, Robert, 
for I am so nervous and out of sorts that I could n't 
have stood one bit of fault-finding, — I should 
have said things, and then have been sorry all 
day to-morrow. And I 'm sure each day brings 
enough without carrying anything over. Come, 
read the paper to me, or tell me what you ha\e 
been thinking about so deeply, if you don't mind 
Merton's hearing you. I wish to forget myself, 
and my work, and everything that worries me, for 
a little while. " 

"I '11 read the paper first, and then, after 
Merton has learned his lessons, I will tell you my 
thoughts, — my purpose, I may almost say. Mer- 
ton shall know about it soon, for he is becoming 
old enough to understand the 'why' of things. 
I hope, my boy, that your teacher lays a great 
deal of stress on the luJiy in all your studies ? " 

" Oh, yes, after a fash ion, "-said the boy. 

"Well, so far as I am your teacher, Merton," 
I said, " I wish you always to think why you should 
do a thing or why you should n't, and to try not to 
be satisfied with any reason but a good one." 

Then I gleaned from the paper such items as I 
thought would interest my wife. At last we were 
alone, with no sound in the room but the low roar 
of the city, a roar so deep as to make one think 
that the tides of life were breaking into waves. I 
was doing some figuring in a note-book when my 
wife asked : 

Robert, what is your problem to-night, and 
what part have I in it ? " 

" So important a part that 1 could n't solve it 
without you," I replied, smiling at her. 

" Oh, come now ! " she said, laughing slightly 
for the first time in the evening; "you always 
begin to flatter a little when you want to carry a 

"Well, then, you are on your guard against 
my wiles. But believe me, Winifred, the problem 
on my mind is not like one of my ordinary brown 
studies, — in those I often try to get back to the 
wherefore of things, which people usually accept 
and do not bother about. The question I am now- 
considering comes right home to us, and we must 
meet it. I have felt for some time that we could 
not put off action much longer, and to-night I am 
convinced of it. " 

Then I told her how I had found three of the 
children engaged that evening, concluding : 

"The circumstances of their lot are more to 
blame than they themselves. And why should I 
find fault with you because you are nervous? You 
could no more help being nervous and a little im- 
patient than you could prevent the heat of the lamp 

from burning you, should you place your finger over 
it. I know the cause of it all. As for Mousie, she 
is growing paler and thinner every day. You know 
what my income is ; we could not change things 
much for the better by taking other rooms in 
another part of the city, and we might find that 
we had changed for the worse. I propose that we 
go to the country and get our living out of the 

" Why, Robert ! what do you know about farm- 
ing or gardening " 

" Not very much, but I am not yet too old to 
learn : and there would be something for the chil- 
dren to do at once, pure air for them to breathe, 
and space for them to grow healthfully in body, 
mind, and soul. You know I have but little money 
laid by, and that I am not one of those smart men 
who can push their way. I don't know inuch be- 
sides book-keeping, and my employers think I am 
not remarkably quick at that. I can't seem to ac- 
quire the lightning speed with which things are done 
nowadays ; and while I try to make up for speed 
by long hours and honesty, I don't believe I could 
ever earn much more than I am getting now, and 
you know it does n't leave a wide margin for sick- 
ness or misfortune of any kind. After all, what 
does my salary give us but food and clothing and 
shelter, such as they are, with a little to spare in 
some years? It sends a cold chill to my heart to 
think what \\ ()uld become of you and the children if 
I should be sick or anything should happen to me. 
Still, it is the present welfare of the children that 
weighs most on my mind, Winifred. They are 
no longer little things that you can keep in these 
rooms and watch over: there is danger for them 
just outside that door. It would n't be so if be- 
yond the door lay a garden and fields and woods. 
You, my overtaxed wife, would n't worry about 
them the moment they \i cre out of sight ; and my 
work, instead of being away from them all day, 
could be with them. All could do something, 
even down to pale Mousie and little Bobsey. Out- 
door life and pure air, instead of that breathed 
over and over, would bring quiet to your nerves 
and the roses back to your cheeks. The children 
would grow sturdy and strong; much of their work 
would be like play to them ; they would n't be 
alwa) S in contact with other children that we know 
nothing about. I am aware that the country is n't 
Eden, as we have imagined it, — for I lived there as 
a boy, — but it seems like Eden compared to this 
place with its surroundings ; and I feel as if I were 
being driven back to it by circumstances I can't 

There is no need of dwelling further on the 
reasons for and against the step we proposed. We 
thought a great deal, talked it over several times, 



and finally my wife agreed that the change would 
be wise and best for all. Then the children were 
taken into our confidence, and they became more 
delighted every day as the prospect grew clearer 
to them. 

"We'll all be good soon, wont we?" said my 
youngest, who had a rather vivid sense of his own 
shortcomings, and kept those of the others in 
mind, as well. 

"Why so, Bobsey?" I asked. 

"'Cause Mamma says God put the first people 
in a garden and they were very good, better 'n any 

So it was settled that we would leave our narrow 
suit of rooms, the Daggetts and Ricketts, and go 
to the country. To me naturally fell the task of 
finding the land flowing with milk and honey to 
which we should journey in the spring. Mean- 
time, we were already emigrants at heart, full of 
the bustle and excitement of mental preparation. 

I prided myself somewhat on my knowledge 
of human nature, which, in regard to children, con- 
formed to comparatively simple laws. I knew that 
the change would involve plenty of hard work, 
self-denial, and careful managing, which nothing 

I V 


folks afterward. God ought to know the best place 
for people." 

Thus Bobsey gave a kind of divine sanction to 
our project. Of course, we had not taken so im- 
portant a step without asking the great Father of 
all to guide us ; for we felt that in the mystery of 
life, we, too, were but little children who knew not 
what should be on the morrow or how best to pro- 
vide for it with any certainty. To our sanguine 
minds there was in Bobsey's words a hint of some- 
thing more than permission to go up out of Egypt. 

could redeem from prose ; but I aimed to add to 
our exodus so far as possible the elements of advent- 
ure and mystery so dear to the hearts of children. 
The question where wc should go was the cause 
of much discussion, the studying of maps, and the 
learning of not a little geography. 

Merton's counsel was that we should seek a 
region abounding in Indians, bears, and "such 
big game." His advice made clear the nature of 
some of his recent reading. He proved, how- 
ever, that he was not wanting in sense by his readi- 




ness to give up these attractive features in the 
choice of locality. 

Mousie's soft black eyes always lighted up at 
the prospect of a flower garden that should be as 
big as our sitting-room. Even in our city apart- 

Melissa Daggett was of a very different type, — I 
could never see her without the word "sly" com- 
ing into my mind, — and her small mysteries 
awakened Winnie's curiosity. Now that the latter 
was promised chickens, ducks, and rambles in the 


ments, poisoned by gas and devoid of sunlight, 
she usually managed to keep a little house plant 
in bloom, and the thought of placing seeds in the 
open ground, where, as she said, " the roots could 
go down to China if they wanted to," brought the 
first color I had seen in her face for many a day. 

Winnie was our strongest child, and also the 
one who gave me the most anxiety. Impulsive, 
warm-hearted, restless, she always made me think 
of an overfull fountain. Her alert black eyes 
were as eager to see as was her inquisitive mind 
to pry into everything. For a girl she was stur- 
dily built, and one of the severest punishments we 
could inflict was to place her in a chair and tell her 
not to move for an hour. We were beginning to 
learn that we could no more keep her in our sitting- 
room than we could restrain a mountain brook that 
foams into a rockv basin only to foam out again. 

woods, Melissa and her secrets became insig- 
nificant, and a ready promise to keep aloof from 
her was given. 

As for Bobsey, he should have a pig which he 
could name, and call his own ; and for which he 
might pull weeds and pick up apples. We soon 
found that he was communing with that phantom 
pig in his dreams. 

By the time Christmas week began, we all had 
agreed to do without candy, toys, and knick-knacks, 
and to buy books that would tell us how to live in the 
country. One happy evening we had an early sup- 
per and all went to a ^^■ell-known agricultural store 
and publishing-house on Broadw-ay, each child al- 
most awed by the fact that I had fifteen dollars in 
my pocket which should be spent that very night in 
the purchase of books and papers. To the chil- 
dren the shop seemed like a place where tickets 




direct to Eden were obtained, wliilethe colored pict- 
ures of fruits and vegetables could only portray 
the products of Eden, so different were they in 
size and beauty from the specimens appearing in 
our market-stalls. Stuffed birds and animals were 
also on the shelves, and no epicure ever enjoyed 
the gamy flavor as did we. But when we came to 
examine the books, their plates exhibiting almost 
every phase of country work and production, we 
felt that a long vista leading toward our unknown 
home was opening before us, illumined by alluring 
pictures. To Winnie was given a book on poultry, 
and the cuts representing the various birds were 
even more to her taste than cuts from the fowls 
themselves at a Christmas dinner. The Nimrod 
instincts of the race were awakened in Merton, and 
I soon found that he had set his heart on a book that 
gave an account of game, fish, birds, and mam- 

cut from the woods until you have earned money 
enough yourself to buy what you need." 

The boy was almost overwhelmed. He came 
to me and took my hand in both his own. 

" Papa," he faltered, and his eyes were moist ; 
" did you say a gun ? " 

" Yes, a breech-loading shot-gun, on one con- 
dition, — that you '11 not smoke till after you are 
twenty-one. A growing boy can't smoke in safety." 

He gave my hand a quick, strong pressure, and 
was immediately at the farther end of the store, 
blowing his nose suspiciously. I smiled content- 
edly and thought : "I want no better promise. A 
gun will cure him of cigarettes better than a tract 

Mousie was quiet, as usual ; but there was again 
a faint color in her cheeks, a soft luster in her eyes. 
I kept near my invalid child most of the time, for 

mals, — a natural and wholesome longing. 1 my- 
self had felt it keenly when a boy. Such country 
sport would bring sturdiness to his limbs and the 
right kind of color into his face. 

" All right, Merton," 1 said; "you shall have 
the book and a breech-loading shot-gun also. As 
for fishing-tackle, you can manage with a pole 

fear that she would go beyond her strength. I 
made her sit bv a table, and brought the books 
that would mterest her most. Her sweet, thin face 
was a study, and I felt that she was already secur- 
mg the healing caresses of Mother Nature. When 
we started homeward, she earned a book about 
flowers next to her heart. 

Bobsev taxed his mother s patience and agility, 
for he seemed all over the store at the same mo- 
ment, and wanted everything m it, being sure that 
fifteen dollars would buy all and leave a handsome 
margin ; but at last he was content with a book 
illustrated from beginning to end with pigs. 

What pleased me most was to see how m)- wife 
enjoyed our little outing. Wrapped up in the 
children, she reflected their joy in her face, and 
looked almost girlish in her happiness. I whispered 
in her ear : " Your present shall be the home itself, 
for 1 shall have the deed made out in your name, 
and then you can turn me out-of-doors as often as 
yon please." 

'• Which will be every pleasant day after break- 
fast," she said, laughing. " You know you are 
very safe in giving things to me." 

"Yes, Winifred," I replied, pressing her hand 

248 DRIVEN BACK TO EDEN. [February, 

on the sly ; "1 have been finding that out ever 
since I gave myself to you." 

1 bought Henderson's Gardening for Profit and 
some other practical books. 1 also subscribed for 
a journal devoted to rural interests and giving sim- 
ple directions for the work of each month. At last 
we returned. Never did a jollier little procession 
than ours march up Broadway. People were going 
to the opera and evening companies, and carriages 
rolled by filled with elegantly dressed ladies and 
gentlemen; but my wife remarked: "None of 
those people are as happy as we are, trudging in 
this roundabout way to our country home." 

Her words suggested our course of action during 
the months which must intervene before it would 
be safe or wise for us to leave the city. Our 
thoughts, words, and actions were all a roundabout 
means to our cherished end, and yet the most 
direct way that we could take under the circum- 
stances. Field and garden were covered with 
snow, the ground was granite-like from frost, and 
Winter's cold breath chilled our impatience to be 
gone, but so far as possible we lived in a country 
atmosphere, and amused ourselves by trying to 
conform to country ways in a city flat. Even 
Winnie declared she heard the cocks crowing at 
dawn, while Bobsey had a different kind of grunt 
or squeal for every pig in his book. 

On Christmas morning we all brought out our 
purchases and arranged them on a table. Merton 
was almost wild when he found a bright single- 
barreled gun, with accouterments, standing in the 
corner. Even Mousie exclaimed with delight 
when she found some bright-colored papers of 
flower-seeds on her plate. To Winnie were given 
half a dozen china eggs, with which to lure the 
prospective "biddies "to lay in nests easily reached, 
and she tried to cackle over them in absurd imita- 
tion. Little Bobsey had to have some toys and 
candy, but they all presented to his eyes the natu- 
ral inmates of the barn-yard. In the number of 
domestic animals he swallowed that day he equaled 
the little boy, in Hawthorne's story of the " House 
of the Seven Gables," who devoured a gingerbread 
caravan of camels and elephants purchased at Miss 
Hepzibah Pyncheon's shop. Our Christmas dinner 
consisted almost wholly of such vegetables as we 
proposed to raise the coming summer. Never 
before were such connoisseurs of carrots, beets, 
onions, parsnips, and so on, through almost the 
entire list of such winter stock as was to be obtained 
at our nearest green-grocery. We celebrated the 
day by nearly a dozen dishes which the children 
aided my wife in preparing. Then 1 had Merton 
figure out the cost of each, and we were surprised at 
the cheapness of much of country fare, even when 
retailed in very small quantities. 

This brought up another phase of the problem. 
In many respects I was like the children, having 
almost as much to learn as they, — with the advan- 
tage, however, of being able to correct impressions 
by experience. In other words, 1 had more judg- 
ment ; and, while 1 should certainly make mis- 
takes, not many of them would be absurd or often 
repeated. I was aware that most of the homely 
kitchen vegetables cost comparatively little, even 
though (having no good place for storage in 
our flat) we had found it better to buy what we 
needed from day to day. It was therefore certain 
that, at wholesale in the country, they would 
often be exceedingly cheap. This fact would 
work both ways. Little money would purchase 
much food of certain kinds, and if we produced 
these articles of food, they would bring us little 

I will pass briefly over the period that elapsed 
before it was time for us to depart, assured that the 
little people who are following this simple history 
are as eager to get away from the dusty city flat 
to the sunlight, breezy fields, brooks, and woods as 
were the children in my story. It is enough to say 
that, during all my waking hours not devoted to 
business, I read, thought, and studied on the problem 
of supporting my family in the country. I haunted 
Washington Market in the gray dawn, and learned 
from much inquiry what products found a ready 
and certain sale at some price, and what appeared 
to yield the best profits to the grower. There was 
much conflict of opinion, but I noted down and 
averaged the statements made to me. Many of the 
marketmen had hobbies, and told me how to make 
a fortune out of one or two articles; more gave care- 
less, random, or ignorant answers ; but here and 
there wasaplain, honest, sensible fellow who showed 
me from his books what plain, honest, sensible 
producers in the country were doing. In a few 
weeks I dismissed finally the tendency to one 
blunder. A novice hears or reads of an acre of 
cabbages or strawberries producing so much. 
Then he figures, " If one acre yields so much, two 
acres will give twice as much," and so on. Inquiry 
and the experience of others showed me the utter 
folly of all this ; and I came to the conclusion that 
I could give my family shelter, plain food, pure 
air, wholesome work and play in plenty, and 
that I could not for some time provide much 
else with certainty. I tried to stick closely to 
common sense, — and the humble circumstances 
of the vast majority living from the soil proved 
that there was in these pursuits no easy or 
speedy road to fortune. Therefore, we must 
part reluctantly with every penny, and let a dollar 
go for only the essentials to the modest success 
now accepted as all we could naturafly expect. 



We had explored the settled States, and even the 
Territories, in fancy ; we had talked over nearly 
every industry, from cotton and sugar-cane plant- 
ing to a sheep-ranch. I encouraged all this, for 
it was so much education out of school-hours ; 
yet all, even Merton, eventually agreed with me 
that we 'd better not go far away, but seek a 
place near schools, markets, and churches, and 
well inside of civilization. 

" See here, youngsters, you forget the most 

At last, in reply to my inquiries and my answers 
to advertisements, I received the following letter: 

"Maizeville, N. v., March ist, 1884. 
" Robert Durham, Esq. 

" Z?('irr Sir: I have a place that will suit you, I think. It can 
be bought for a sum inside the figure you name. Come and see it. 
I sha'n't crack it up, but want you to judge for yourself. 

"John Jones." 

I had been to see two or three places that had 
been ''cracked up" so highly that my wife 
thought it would be better to close a bargain at 

important crop of all that I must cultivate," I said 
one evening. 

"What is that? " they cried in chorus. 

"A crop of boys and girls. You may think 
that my mind is chiefly on corn and potatoes. 
Not at all. It is chiefly on you ; and for your sakes 
Mamma and I decided for the country." 

( To lie a 

once before some one else secured the prize, — 
and I had come back disgusted in each instance. 

" The soul of wit" — which is brevity — was in 
John Jones's letter. There was also a downright 
directness which hit the mark, and I wrote that I 
would go to Maizeville in the course of the fol- 
lowing week. 

U:?tzceJ. ) 







Bv Charles E. Carryl. 

Chapter IX. 


The road was very dreary and dusty, and wound 
in and out in the most tiresome way until it seemed 
to have no end to it, and Davy ran on and on, half- 
expecting at any moment to feel the Roc's great 
beak pecking at his back. Fortunately his legs 
carried him along so remarkaljly well that he felt 
he could run for a week ; and indeed he might 
have done so if he had not, at a sharp turn in the 

road, come suddenly upon a horse and cab. The 
horse was fast asleep when Dav\- dashed against 
him, but he woke up with a start, and, after whis- 
tling like a locomotive once or twice in a very 
alarming manner, went to sleep again. He was a 
very frowsy-looking horse with great lumps at his 
knees and a long, crooked neck like a camel's ; but 
what attracted Davy's attention particularly was 
the word "ElBSV" painted in whitewash on his 
side in large letters. He was looking at this and 
wondering if it were the horse's name, when the 
door of the cab flew open and a man fell out, and 



after rolling over in the dust, sat up in the middle 
of the road and began yawning. He was even a 
more ridiculous-looking object than the horse, be- 
ing dressed in a clown's suit, with a morning gown 
over it by way of a top-coat, and a field-marshal's 
cocked hat. In fact, if he had not had a whip in 
his hand no one would ever have taken him for a 
cabman. After yawning heartily, he looked up at 
Davy and said drowsil)' : " Where ? " 

" To B. G.," said Davy, hastily referring to the 
Hole-keeper's letter. 

"All right," said the caljman, yawning again. 
"Climb in, and don't put your feet on the 

Now, this was a ridiculous thing for him to say, for 
when Davy stepped inside he found the only seats 
were some three-legged stools huddled together in 
the back part of the cab, all the rest of the space 
being taken up by a large bath-tub that ran across 
the front end of it. Davy turned on one of the 
faucets, but nothing came out except some dust 
and a few small bits of gravel, and he shut it off 
again, and sitting down 
on one of the little stools, 
waited patiently for the 
cab to start. 

Just then the cabman 
put his head in at the 
window, and winking at 
him confidentially, said : 
" Can you tell me why 
this horse is like an um- 

" No," said Davy. 

" Because he 's used 
up," said the cabman. 

" 1 don't think that 's 
a very good conundrum," 
said Davy. 

" So do I," said the 
cabman. "But it 's the 
best one I can make with 
this horse. Did ) ou say 
N. B. ?" he asked. 

"No; 1 said B. G.," 

stand, and 1 don't care to lose my place on it;" 
and Davy accordingly jumped out of the cab and 
walked away. 

Presently there was a clattering of hoofs behind 
him, and Ribsy came galloping along the road 
with nothing on him but his collar. He was hold- 
ing his big head high in the air, like a giraffe, and 
gazing proudly about him as he ran. He stopped 
short when he saw the little boy, and giving a 
triumphant whistle, said cheerfully ; " How are 
you again ?" 

It seemed rather strange to be spoken to by a 
cab-horse, but Davy answered that he was feeling 
ciuite well. 

" So am 1," said Ribsy. " The fact is, that when 
it comes to beating a horse about the head with a 
three-legged stool, if that horse is going to leave 
at all, it 's time he was off." 

"1 should think it was," said Davy, earnestly. 

" You '11 observe, of course, that 1 've kept on 
m\ shoes and my collar," said Ribsy. " It is 
n't genteel to go barefoot, and nothing makes 

said Davy. 

" h\\ right," said the 
cabman again, and disappeared from the window. 
Presently there was a loud trampling overhead, 
and Davy, putting his head out at the window, 
saw that the cabman had climbed up on top of 
the cab and was throwing stones at the horse, 
which was still sleeping peacefully. 

"Oh! don't do that," said Davy, anxiously. 
" I 'd rather get out and walk." 

" Well, I wish you would," said the cabman, in 
a tone of great relief "This is a vcrv valuable 


a fellow look so untidy as going about without a 
collar. The truth is" — he continued, sitting down 
in the road on his hind legs, " the truth is, 1 'm 
not an ordinary horse by any means. 1 have a 
history, and 1 "\e arranged it in a popular form 
in six canters — I mean cantos," he added, hastily 
correcting himself 

" 1 'd like to hear it, if you please," said Davy, 

" Well, 1 'm a little hoarse '' began Ribsv. 




" I think you 're a verj- big horse," said Davy, 
in great surprise. 

" I 'm referring to my voice," said Ribsy, haugh- 
tily. " Be good enough not to interrupt me again ; " 
and giving two or three prehminary whistles to 
clear his throat, he began : 

"//'.f very confining, this Ih'ing in stables, 

And passing one's time among luagons and 

I much prefer dining at gentlemen'' s tables, 
.Ind living on tiirkevs and cranberry tarts." 

" That 's rather a high-toned idea." said Ribsy, 

"Oh! yes, indeed," said Davy, laughing; and 
Ribsy continued : 

"As sprv as a kid and as trim as a spider 

Was I in the days of the Turnip-top Hunt, 
When I used to get rid of the lueight of my 

And canter contentedlv in at the front." 

" By the way, that trick led to my being sold to 
a circus," said Ribsy. " I suppose you 've never 
been a circus-horse ?" 

" Never," said Davy. 

" Then vou don't know anything about it," said 
Ribsy. " Here we go again !" 

" // made me a wreck, with no hope of improve- 

Too feeble to race with an invalid crab ; 
I'm wry in the neck, with a rickety nnroement 
Peculiarly suited for drawing a cab.'' 

'• I may as well say here," broke in Ribsy again, 
"that the price old Patsey Bolivar, the cabman, 
paid for me was simply ridiculous." 

" / find with surprise that I'm constantly sneez- 

I 'm stiff in the legs, and I '«/ often for 
sale ; 

And the blue-bottle files, witli their tiresome 

Are quite out of reach of my weary old 

" 1 see them !" cried Davy eagerly. 

" Thank you," said Ribsy, haughtily. " As the 
next verse is the last, you need n't trouble your- 
self to make any further observations. 

"/ think my remarks will determine the question 
Of why I am bony and thin as a rail ; 

I 'm off for some larks to improve my diges- 

And point the stern moral conveyed by my 

Here Ribsy got upon his legs again, and after a 
refreshing fillip with his heels, cantered off along 
the road, whistling as he went. Two large blue- 
bottle flies were on his back, and his tail was flying 
around with an angry whisk like a pin-wheel ; but 
as he disappeared in the distance, the flies were 
still sitting calmly on the ridge of his spine, ap- 
parently enjoying the scenery. 

Davy was about to start out again on his journey, 
when he heard a voice shouting " Hi ! Hi ! " and 
looking back, he saw the poor cabman coming 
along the road on a brisk trot, dragging his cab 
after him. He had on Ribsy's harness, and 
seemed to be in a state of tremendous excitement. 

As he came up with Davy, the door of the cab 
flew open again, and the three-legged stools came 
tumbling out, followed by a dense cloud of dust. 

"Get in! Get in!" shouted the cabman, ex- 
citedly. "Never mind the dust, I 've turned it 
on to make believe we 're going tremendously 

Davy hastily scrambled in, and the cabman 
started off again. The dust was pouring out of 
both faucets, and a heavy shower of gravel was 
rattling into the bath-tub ; and, to make matters 
worse, the cabman was now going along at such 
an astonishing speed that the cab rocked violently 
from side to side, like a boat in a stormy sea. Davy 
made a frantic attempt to shut off the dust, but it 
seemed to come faster and faster, until he was 
almost choked. At this moment the cab came 
suddenly to a stop, and Davy, rushing to the win- 
dow, found himself staring into a farm-yard, where 
a red cow stood gazing up at him. 

Ch,a.pter X. 


It was quite an ordinary-looking farm-yard and 
quite an ordinary-looking cow, but she stared so 
earnestly up at Davy that he felt positively certain 
she had something to say to him. " Every creat- 
ure I meet does have something to say," he 
thought, " and I should really like to hear a cow — " 
and just at this moment the cab-door suddenly flew 
open and he pitched head-foremost out upon a 
pile of hay in the farm-yard and rolled from it off 
upon the ground. As he sat up, feeling exceed- 
ingly foolish, he looked anxiously at the cow, ex- 
pecting to see her laughing at his misfortune, but 
she stood gazing at him with a very serious ex- 



pression of countenance, solemnly chewing, and 
slowly swishing her tail from side to side. As 
Davy really didn't know how to begin a conversation 
with a cow, he waited for her to speak first, and there 
was consequently along pause. Presently the Cow 
said, in a melancholy, 
lowing tone of voice : 

"Are you a market- 
gardener ? " 

" No," said Davy. 

" Because," said the 
Cow, mournfully, " there 
's a feather-bed growing 
in the vegetable garden, 
and I thought you might 
explain how it came 
there. " 

" That 's very curi- 
ous," said Davy. 

" Curious, but com- 
fortable for the pig," said 
the Cow. " He 's taken 
to sleeping there, lately. 
He calls it his quill pen." 

"That 's a capital 
name for it," said Davy, 
laughing. " What else 
is there in the garden ?" 

"Nothing but tlie 
bean-stalk," said the 
Cow. " You 've heard 
of 'Jack and the Bean- 
stalk,' have n't you ? " 

" Oh ! yes, indeed ! " 
said Davy, beginning to 
be very much interested. 
" I should like to see 
the bean-stalk." 

"You can't j-(Y' the 
beans talk," said the 
Cow, gravely. " You 
might hear them talk — 
that is, if they had any - 
thing to say, and you 
listened long enough. 
By the way, that 's the 
house that Jack built. Pretty, is n't it ? " 

Davy turned and looked up at the house. It 
certainly was a very pretty house, built of bright 
red brick with little gables, and dormer-windows 
in the roof, and with a trim little porch quite over- 
grown with climbing roses. But it had a very com- 
ical appearance, for all that, as the cab-door was 
standing wide open in the walk just a little above 
the porch. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he 
exclaimed : 

"Then you must be the cow with a crumpled 
horn ! " 

" It 's not crumpled," said the Cow with great 
dignity. "There 's a slight crimp in it, to be sure, 
but nothing that can properly be called a crump. 


Then the story was all wrong about my tossing 
the dog. It was the cat that ate the malt. He 
was a Maltese cat, and his name was Flipme- 

" Did you toss liim ? " inquired Davy. 

"Certainly not," said the Cow, indignantly. 
"Who ever heard of a cow tossing a cat? The 
fact is, I 've never had a foir chance to toss any- 
tlihig. As for the dog, Mother Hubbard never 
permitted any liberties to be taken with him." 




" I 'd dearly love to see Mother Hubbard," said 
Davy, eagerly. 

"Well, you can," said the Cow, indift'erently. 
" She is n't much to see. If you '11 look in at the 
kitchen window, you '11 probably find her perform- 
ing on the piano and singing a song. She 's 
always at it." 

Davy stole softly to the kitchen window and 
peeped in, and, as the Cow had said, Mother Hub- 
bard was there, sitting at the piano and evidently 
just preparing to sing. The piano was very re- 
markable, and Davy could not remember ever 
having seen one like it before. The top of it was 
arranged with shelves on which stood all the 
kitchen crockery, and in the under part of it, at 
one end, was an oven with glass doors, through 
which he could see several pies baking. 

Mother Hubbard was dressed, just as he ex- 
pected, in a very ornamental flowered gown with 
high-heeled shoes and buckles, and wore a tall 
pomted hat over her night-cap. She was so like 
the pictures Davy had seen of her that he thought 
he would have recognized her anywhere. She 
sang in a high key with a very quavering voice, 
and this was the song : 

"/ had an cdiiLatcd pug. 

His iiainc was Toniiiiv Jonesj 
He lived upon tJie parlor rug 
E.veliisivelv on Iwnes. 

" / wen/ to a secluded room 
To get one from a shelf ; 
It was uH there, and I presume 
He 'd gone and helped himself. 

"He had an entertaining trick 
Of feigning he was dead ; 
Then, with a re-assuring kick. 
Would stand upon his head. 

"/ could not take the proper change 
And go to buy him shoes, 
But what he 'd sit upon the range 
And read the latest news. 

"And when I ventured out one day 
To order him a coat, 
I found him, in his artless way, 
Careering on a goat. 

" I could not go to look at hats 
But that, with childish glee. 
He 'd ask in all the neighbors' cats 
To join him at his tea .' " 

While Mother Hubbard was singing this song, 
little handfuls of gravel were constantly thrown at 
her through one of the kitchen windows, and by 
the time the song was finished, her lap was quite 
full of it. 

" 1 'd just like to know who is throwing that 
gravel," said Davy, indignantly. 

" It 's Gobobbles," said the Cow, calmly. 
" You '11 find him around at the front of the house. 
By the way, have you any chewing-gum about 
you ? " 

" No," said Davy, greatly surprised at the ques- 

"So 1 supposed," said the Cow. "It's pre- 
cisely what I should expect of a person who would 
fall out of a cab." 

" But I could n't help that," said Davy. 

" Of course you could n't," said the Cow, yawn- 
ing indolently. " It 's precisely what 1 should ex- 
pect of a person who had n't any chewing-gum." 
And with this the Cow walked gravely away, just as 
Mother Hubbard made her appearance at the 

"Boy," said Mother Hubbard, beaming mildly 
upon Davy through her spectacles, " you shouldn't 
throw gravel." 



" I have n't thrown any," said Davy. 

"Fie!" said Mother Hubbard, shaking her 
head ; " always speak the truth." 

" I am speaking the trutli," said Davy, indig- 
nantly. " It was Gobobbles." 

" So I supposed," said Mother Hubbard, gently 
shaking her head again. " It would have been 
far better if he had been cooked last Christmas 
instead of being left over. Stuffing him and then 
letting him go has made a very proud creature of 
him. You should never be proud." 

"I'm not proud," replied Davy, provoked at 
being mixed up with Gobobbles in this way. 

"You may define the word pyo?td, and give a 
few examples," continued Mother Hubbard, and 
Davy was just noticing with astonishment that she 
was beginning to look exactly like old Miss Peggs, 
his school-teacher, when a thumping sound was 
heard, and the next moment Gobobbles came 
tearing around the corner of the house, and Mother 
Hubbard threw up her hands with a little shriek 
and disappeared from the window. 

Gobobbles proved to be a large and very bold- 
mannered turkey, with all his feathers taken off 
except a frowsy tuft aijout his neck. He was 
pounding his chest with his wings in a very dis- 
agreeable manner, and altogether his appearance 
was so formidable that Davy was half inclined to 
take to his heels at once; but Gobobbles stopped 
short upon seeing him, and, discontinuing his 
pounding, stared at him suspiciously for a moment, 
and then said : 

" 1 can't abide boys ! " 

" Why not ? " said Davy. 

" Oh, they 're so hungry ! " said Gobobbles, 
passionately. " They 're so everlastingly hungry. 
Now, don't deny that you 're fond of turkey." 

" Well, I do like turkey," said Davy, seeing no 
way out of the difficulty. 

"Of course you do !" said Gobobbles, tossing 
his head. " Now, you might as well know," he 
continued, resuming his thumping with increased 
energy, " that I 'm as hollow as a drum and as 
tough as a hat-box. Just mention that fact to any 
one you meet, will you ? I suppose Christmas is 
coming, of course." 

" Of course it is ! " replied Davy. 

" It 's ahvays coming ! " said Gobobbles, angrily ; 
and with this he strutted away, pounding himself 
like a bass-drum. 



"This is a very sloppy road," said Davy to 
himself, as he walked along in the direction taken 

by the turkey; and it was, indeed, a very sloppy 
road. The dust had quite disappeared, and the 
sloppiness soon changed to such a degree of wet- 
ness that D.avy presently found himself in water 
up to his ankles. He turned to go back, and saw, 
to his alarm, that the land in every direction 
seemed to be miles away, and the depth of the 
water increased so rapidly that, before he could 
make up his mind what to do, it had risen to his 
shoulders, and he was carried off his feet and 
found himself apparently drifting out to sea. The 
water, however, was warm and pleasant, and he 
discovered that instead of sinking he was floated 
gently along, slowly turning in the water like a 
float on a fishing-line. This was very agreeable, 
but he was, nevertheless, greatly relieved when a 
boat came in sight sailing toward him. As it 
came near, it proved to be the clock with a sail 
hoisted and the Goblin sitting complacently in the 

" How d' ye do, Gobsy ? " said Davy. 

" Prime ! " said the Goblin, enthusiastically. 

" Well, stop the clock," said Davy; " I want to 
get aboard." 

" I have n't any board," said the Goblin, in great 

"I mean I want to get into the clock," said 
Davy, laughing. " I don't think you 're much of 
a sailor. " 

" I 'm not," said the Goblin, as Davy climbed 
in. "1 've been sailing one way for ever so long, 
because I don't know how to turn around. But 
there 's a landing-place just ahead." 

Davy looked over his shoulder and found that 
they were rapidly approaching a little wooden pier 
standing about a foot out of the water. Beyond 
it stretched a broad expanse of sandy beach. 

"What place is it?" said Davy. 

" It 's called Hickory Dickory Dock," said the 
Goblin. "All the eight-day clocks stop here," 
and at this moment the clock struck against the 
timbers with a violent thump, and Da\ y was 
thrown out, heels over head, upon the dock. He 
scrambled upon his feet again as quickly as pos- 
sible, and saw to his dismay that the clock had 
been turned completely around by the shock and 
was rapidly drifting out to sea again. The Goblin 
looked back despairingly, and Davyjust caught the 
words, " 1 don't know how to turn around ! " when 
the clock was carried out of hearing distance and 
soon disappeared on the horizon. 

The beach was co^'ered in every direction wdth 
little hills of sand, like hay-cocks, with scraggy 
bunches of sea- weed sticking out of the tops of 
them ; and Davy was wondering ho^\■ the\- came to 
be there, \i4ien he caught sight of a man walking 
along the edge of the water and now and then 




stopping and gazing earnestly out to sea. As the 
man drew nearer, Davy saw that he was dressed in 
a suit of brown leather and wore a high-peaked 
hat, and that a little procession, consisting of a 
dog, a cat, and a goat, was following patiently at 
his heels, while a parrot was perched upon his 
shoulder. They all wore large standing linen col- 
lars and black cravats, which gave them a very 
serious appearance. 

Davy was morall)- certain that the man was 
Robinson Crusoe. He carried an enormous gun, 
which he loaded from time to time, and then, aim- 
ing carefully at the sea, fired. There was nothing 
very alarming about this, for the gun, when fired, 
only gave a faint squeak, and the bullet, which 
was about the size of a small orange, dropped out 
quietly upon the sand. Robinson, for it wasrealh 
he, always seemed to be greatly astonished at this 
result, peering long and anxiously out to sea, after 
every shot. His animal companions, however, 
seemed to be greatl)- alarmed whenever he pre- 

to Robinson and handed him the Hole-keeper's 
letter. Robinson looked at him suspiciously as he 
took it, and the animals eyed him with evident 

Robinson had some difficulty in opening the 
letter, which was sopping wet, and took a long 
time to read it, Davy meanwhile waiting patiently. 
Sometimes Robinson would scowl horribly as if 
puzzled, and then again he would chuckle to himself 
as if vastly amused with the contents ; but as he 
turned the letter over in reading it, Davy could not 
help seeing that it was simply a blank sheet of pa- 
per with no writing whatever upon it except the 
address. This, however, was so like the Hole- 
keeper's way of doing things that Davy was not 
much surprised when Robinson remarked : " He 
has left out the greatest lot of comical things ! " 
and stooping down, buried the letter in the sand. 
Then picking up his gun, he said : " You may 
walk about in the grove as long as you please, 
provided you don't pick anything." 


pared to fire; and scampering off, hid behind the 
little hills of sand until the gun was discharged, 
when they would return, and after solemnly watch- 
ing their master reload his piece, follow him 
along the beach as before. This was all so ridic- 
ulous that Davy had great difficulty in keeping 
a serious expression on his face as he walked up 

"What grove?" said Davy, very much sur- 

"This one," said Robinson, proudly pointing 
out the tufts of sea-weed. " They 're beach-trees, 
\ (>u know ; 1 planted 'em myself. I had to have 
some place to go shooting in, of course. " 

" Can you shoot with ///n/ gun ? " said Davy. 



"Shoot? Why, it 's a splendid gun!" said 
Robinson, gazing at it proudly. " I made it 
myself — out of a spy-glass." 

" It does n't seem to go off," said Davy, doubt- 

" That 's the beauty of it ! " exclaimed Robin- 
son, with great enthusiasm. " Some guns go off, 
and you never see 'em again." 

" But 1 mean that it does n't make any noise," 
persisted Davy. 

" Of course it does n't," said Robinson. 
"That 's because 1 load it with tooth-powder." 

" But I don't see what you can shoot with it," 
said Davy, feeling that he was somehow getting 
the worst of the argument. 

Robinson stood gazing thoughtfully at him for 
a moment, while the big bullet rolled out of the 
gun with a rumbling sound and fell into the sea. 
" I see what you want," he said, at length. 
" You 're after my personal history. Just take a 
seat in the family circle and I 'II give it to you." 

Davy looked around and saw that the dog, the 
goat, and the cat were seated respectfully in a 
semicircle, with the parrot, which had dismounted, 
sitting beside the goat. He seated himself on the 
sand at the other end of the line, and Robinson 
began as follows : 

^'T/ie iiigJit icas tJiick and hazy 
When the ^Piccadilly Daisy ' 
Carried down the crew and captain in the sea; 

Vol. XII.— 17. 

Am/ I think the water drowned 'ein, 
For they never, never found ''em, 
And I know they did n't come ashore with "te, 

" Oh.' 'twas very sad and lonely 

When I found myself the only 
Population on this cultivated shore ; 

But I 've made a little tavern 

In a rocky little cavern, 
And I sit and watch for people at the door. 

'" / spent no time in looking 

For a girl to do my eooki)!g. 
As I 'm quite a clever hand at making stews ; 

But I had that fellow Friday, 

Just to keep the tavern tidy 
And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes. 

'■ / ha-i'c a little garden 

That I 'm cultivating lard in, 

. Is the things I eat are rather tough and dry ; 
For I live on toasted lizards. 
Prickly pears and parrot gizzards. 

And I'm really very fond of beetle pie. 

' ' The clothes I had were furry, 
A nd it made me fret and worry 

Wlien I found the moths were eating off the hair j 
And I had to scrape and sand 'em, 
And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em, 

' Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear. 



" / sometimes seek diversion 

In a family excursion 
With the few domestic animals you see j 

And we take along a carrot 

As refreshment for the parrot, 
And a little can of junglebcrry tea. 

" Then we gather as we travel 

Bits of moss and dirty gravel, 
And we chip off little specimens of stone ; 

And we carry home as pjizes 

Funny bugs of handy sizes, 
Just to give the day a scientific tone. 

"If the roads are wet and muddy. 
We remain at home and study, — 

For the goat is very clever at a sum, — 
And the dog, instead of figliting. 
Studies ornamental writing. 

While the cat is taking lessons on the drum. 

" We retire at eleven, 

And we rise again at seven. 
And I wish to call attention as I close 

To the fact that all the scholars 

Are correct about their collars 
And particular in turning out their toes." 

Here Robinson called out in a loud voice, " First 
class in arithmetic ! " but the animals sat per- 
fectly motionless, sedately staring at him. 

"Oh! by the way," said Robinson, confiden- 
tially to Davy, " this is the first class in arithmetic. 
That 's the reason they did n't move, you see. 
Now, then ! " he continued sharply, addressing the 
class, "how many halves are there in a whole?" 

There was a dead silence for a moment, and 
then the Cat said gravely, "What kind of a 
hole ? " 

" That has nothing to do with it," said Robin- 
son, impatiently. 

" Oh ! has n't it though !" exclaimed the Dog, 
scornfully. " I should think a big hole could have 
more halves in it than a little one." 

"Well, rather," put in the Parrot, contemptu- 

Here the Goat, who apparently had been care- 
fully thinking the matter o\-er, said in a low, 
quavering voice: "Must all the halves be of the 
same size ? " 

" Certainly not," said Robinson, promptly; then 
nudging Davy with his elbow, he whispered, " He 's 
bringing his mind to bear on it. He 's prodigious 
when he gets started ! " 

" Who taught him arithmetic ? " said Davy, 
who was beginning to think Robinson did n't know 
much about it himself. 

" Well, the fact is," said Robinson, confidentially, 
" he picked it up from an old adder that he met 
in the woods." 

Here the Goat, who evidently was not yet quite 
started, inquired, " Must all the halves be of the 
same shape ? " 

" Not at all," said Robinson, cheerfully. " Have 
'em any shape you like." 

" Then I give it up," said the Goat. 

" Well ! " exclaimed Davy, quite out of patience. 
" You are certainly the stupidest lot of creatures I 
ever saw." 

At this, the animals stared mournfully at him 
for a moment, and then rose up and walked gravely 

" Now you 've spoiled the exercises," said 
Robinson, peevishly. " I 'm sorry 1 gave 'em 
such a staggerer to begin with." 

" Pooh ! " said Davy, contemptuously. " If they 
could n't do that sum, they could n't do anything." 

Robinson gazed at him admiringly for a mo- 
ment, and then, looking cautiously about him to 
make sure that the procession was out of hearing, 
said coaxingly : 

"What's the right answer? Tell us, like a 
good fellow." 

" Two, of course," said Davy. 

"Is that all ?" exclaimed Robinson, in a tone 
of great astonishment. 

" Certainly," said Davy, who began to feel very 
proud of his learning. " Don't you know that 
when they divide a whole into four parts they call 
them fourths, and when they divide it into two 
parts they call them halves ? " 

"Why don't they call them tooths?" said 
Robinson, obstinately. " The fact is, they ought 
to call 'em teeth. That 's what puzzled the Goat. 
Next time I '11 say, ' How many teeth in a whole ? ' " 

" Then the Cat will ask if it 's a rat-hole," said 
Davy, laughing at the idea. 

"You positively convulse me, you 're so very 
humorous," said Robinson, without a vestige of a 
smile. " You 're almost as droll as Friday was. 
He used to call the Goat ' Pat ' ; because he said 
he was a little butter. 1 told him that was alto- 
gether too funny for a lonely place like this, and 
he went away and joined the minstrels." 

Here Robinson suddenly turned pale, and 
hastily reaching out for his gun, sprang to his 

Davy looked out to sea and saw that the clock, 
with the Goblin standing in the stern, had come 
in sight again, and was heading directly for the 
shore with tremendous speed. The poor Goblin, 
who had turned sea-green in color, was frantic- 
ally waving his hands to and fro, as if motioning 
for the beach to get out of the way ; and Davy 



watched his approach with the greatest anxiety. 
Meanwhile, the animals had mounted on four 
sand-hills, and were solemnly looking on, while 
Robinson, who seemed to have run out of tooth- 
powder, was hurriedly loading his gun with sand. 
The next moment the clock struck the beach with 

(To b. 

great force, and turning completely over on the 
sand, buried the Goblin beneath it. Robinson 
was just making a convulsive effort to fire off his 
gun when the clock began striking loudly, and he 
and the animals fled in all directions in the wildest 


He came one blustering, snowy day 

In February weather ; 
He carried on his dimpled arm 

A portmanteau of leather. 

" The music of whose broken speech 
A happy home rejoices ; 
Whose prattle has a sweeter sound 
Than other people's voices." 

He tapped against my window-pane ; 

He said : " You sly old fellow, 
Come, tell me of that little maid 

With curly head and yellow. 

I looked amazed, the saucy boy 
Looked back at me with laughter. 

He said; "My name is Cupid, — 
And your Valentine 1 'm after ! " 




By Nora Perry. 

A LITTLE yellow village-wagon was being pulled 
slowly over the cobble-stones near the bathing- 
houses at Newport by a fat and lazy black pony, 
urged on to its work by a young girl between fif- 
teen and sixteen years of age. 

"Come, hurry ! " shouted a boy from the smooth, 
hard sand beyond. " Give him a whack with the 

The girl in the wagon put down her head very 
much as her pony was doing, but not from the 
same motive. Tacy Blundel was not lazy at any 
moment — at this particular moment she was in 
any but a lazy mood — the little down-drop- 
ping of the chin signifying, instead, a sudden up- 
rising of temper. A very small thing for a girl to 
become angry about, to be sure ; but Tacy was 
constantly losing her temper over just such small 
things. With a sullen look on her face, and her 
chin crushing the ruffle of lace at her throat, Tacy 
drove her pony over the stones, with not an added 
jot of celerity, and without using her whip, much 
less the handle of it. Robert, or Bobby Blundel, 
as every one called him, had a mutinous expres- 
sion on his jolly red face as she came up, but he 
did n't say anything except to give a rather short 
demand to "heave out the things" — the "things" 
in question signifying his bathing-clothes. As he 
received the bundle, he reached forward to help the 
young girl who was sitting beside Tacy to alight. 
But the young girl smiled and shook her head. 

"What! you are not going to bathe?" he 

"No, not to-day," said the girl. 

" Why not? " said Bobby. "You 've changed 
your mind rather suddenly, it seems to me." 

The girl smiled and blushed uneasily. She was 
evidently embarrassed. Bobby glanced at his sis- 
ter Tacy, inquiringly. Tacy knew what that glance 
meant, but did not respond to it ; instead, her sul- 
len expression deepened, and giving her pony a 
little flick with the point of the whip-lash, she drove 
off, leaving her brother standing on the beach-sand, 
where, in a moment, he was joined by the two other 
Blundel brothers — Jimmy and Charley. 

" What 's up ? " inquired the two in a breath. 

" Oh, Judy is n't going in. this morning," grum- 
bled Bobby. ' 

" Why not ? " inquired the two others. 

"/don't know; ask tyrant Tacy. Tacy is n't 
going, so she 's managed that Judy sha'n't," 
replied Bobby. " She's wheedled her somehow." 

" Bother ! / wont stand it. Tacy ! " and Jimmy 
Blundel shouted his sister's name lustily, and 
started to run after the yellow wagon. Bobby 
seized his brother's arm, and cried : 

" No, no, don't. We shall get a good scolding 
at home if we provoke Tacy." 

But Jimmy Blundel, too indignant to care for 
anything, but his one fixed idea, wTenched him- 
self away, and tore after the little wagon, which 
was moving leisurely just then. Coming up to the 
wagon suddenly, he grabbed the fat pony's head 
before Tacy knew what had happened. She had 
dismissed her sullen looks, and was talking very 
pleasantly with her girl guest. 

" I say," cried Jimmy, as he caught the pony's 
head, " why must Judy give up bathing because 
you 've given it up, Tacy? Judy 's going home 
next week, and she came here especially on ac- 
count of the bathing ; her father wanted her to 
bathe every day." 

" She can go if she wants to," answered Tacy, 
all the old sullen looks coming back. 

"Oh, no! I don't care — I just as lief not," 
hurriedly answered Judy, anxious to avert the 

"She does care," retorted Jimmy, regarding 
only his sister as he spoke. Then swiftly turning 
about and putting out his hand, he pounced upon 
Judy's bathing-suit at the bottom of the wagon. 
" There ! that proves it ! " he cried. "Come Judy, 
we all are waiting for you." 

"No, no; I really can't. 1 don't — Oh, go 
away, Jimmy ! " 

Her distress was so genuine that Jimmy ceased 
his urging, but he turned like a tiger on his sister. 

" It 's all your doing; you 're a perfect tyrant. 
I win say so, and you may have a dozen tantrums 
for all 1 care ! " and flinging the bathing-suit back 
into the wagon, Jimmy let go the pony's head and 
started off. 

" Well, you '11 catch it," said Bobby, to whom 
he presently related his exploit. 

" 1 don't care," doggedly replied Jimmy. " Tacy 
is a tyrant. When everything suits her to a T, 
she can be as pleasant as anybody ; but the min- 
ute anybody criticises or opposes her, she gets her 
own way by falling back on that heart-disease of 
hers. 1 wish /had heart-disease ! Jingo! I 'd go 
oft" in a tantrum and get a bicycle quicker than a 
wink ! " 

Bobby smiled, then sobered a little, and said 



T A C Y . 


generously: "Tacy isn't a bit mean and selfish 
in other ways. She '11 give you anything she 
has. She gave me that jolly knife of hers with the 
pearl handle last week." 

" Well, if she 'd keep her temper, she might 
keep everything else," said the unpacified Jimmy. 

" Tacy '3 been spoiled," put in Charley. "1 
heard Uncle Dick tell Mother so the other day, 
and Mother asked him what could be done when 
the doctor said, after she was so sick, that they 
must be careful and not let her get excited." 

While the boys were thus discussingher,Tacy was 
driving along on the smooth, hard sand with her 
friend Judy. She was trying to act as if nothing 
were the matter, and talk to Judy pleasantly and 
politely of other things ; but it was difficult work, 
for she knew, and she knew that Judy knew, that 
something very much was the matter. Deep down 
in her heart Tacy was perfectly aware that she had 
done a selfish thing in keeping Judy from bathing. 
It had happened that none of the family nor any 
of her cousins, who were generally glad to drive 
with her, were able to go that morning, and Tacy 
never could bear to go alone. The boys were off 
early, fishing ; and she had engaged to meet them 
at the beach with their bathing-clothes. Sud- 
denly it occurred to her, why should n't Judy for 
once drive with her, and not take a bath that day ? 
The idea, once in her mind, took firm hold. She 
was proud of Judy, — Miss Julia Elwood, as society 
would know her some day, — for Judy was a great 
favorite and much sought after everywhere, and 
Judy was, moreover, a loving and sweet little body, 
with whom Tacy could always get on nicely. And 
this meant so much — so much even that Tacy 
herself did n't know. As her uncle Dick had said, 
Tacy had been spoiled by her invalidism — by 
knowing, as she could not help knowing from what 
she had heard so long, that she must always be 
considered and given way to for fear some excite- 
ment would injure her. That great illness of 
Tacy's had occurred when she was seven years old. 
She was a bright, promising child then, with a 
lovely fair complexion and golden hair. The ill- 
ness had resulted from an accident. Some neigh- 
bors' children had enticed her over the lawn to 
play at fire-works one summer day. Her ignorant 
little hands had seized upon a toy cannon, and in 
one blinding flash there suddenly came an explo- 
sion that took away all those golden curls and 
ruined that lovely white and pink skin. The shock 
and suffering threw the child into a fever. It was 
thought a great mercy that her eye-sight was spared, 
and for a long time her mother was so thankful 
for this that she did not give much thought to any- 
thing else. But as the days and the months 
and the years went by, it was found that Tacy 

would never again have her pretty, smooth com- 
plexion, and that her hair would never again grow 
with that soft, silken aljundance. Her face was not 
seamed with scars, but there was a roughened, 
thicker look to the skin, and she was uniformly 
pale except when, at some emotion, an unbecoming 
reddish flush would spread all over cheeks and 
brow and nose. Before Tacy entered her fifteenth 
year, she was fully conscious of her looks, — that 
is, that there was something to mark her as odd 
and unlike other people, to make her unalterably 
plain. She was sensitive to beauty in others, and 
sensitive to the lack of it in herself As time went 
on, from day to day she grew more and more sen- 
sitive, and this made her moody and shy and often 
irritable. She began at last to exaggerate her de- 
fects, and to be suspicious of criticism if people gave 
her more than a passing observation. All this pro- 
duced a condition of mind that rendered her a very 
exacting and difficult person to live with. With 
some very generous and noble qualities, which, if 
cultivated or allowed full and free action, would have 
made her welcome and beloved by every one, the 
wild weeds of self-indulgence were fast overcom- 
ing her, and rendering her disagreeable and un- 

In short, Tacy was a tyrant, as Jimmy had said, 
and it all had grown out of that long-ago accident 
which had placed her in the position of an invalid 
to whom all must defer, year after year. "Tacy 
must have this," and " Tacy must have that," and 
"Tacy must not be crossed or worried or troubled 
whatever happened," had been reiterated so 
many times that at last Tacy herself had formed 
the habit of expecting everything and every- 
body to give way to her. She meant to be 
good ; she meant to be kind. She gave freely of 
her pocket-money, and bestowed her possessions 
generously when opportunity ottered ; but she 
never thought of giving up Jicrsclf, her will, and 
her way. She criticised right and left with an 
unsparing tongue; but if some one happened to 
make a suggestion of criticism upon her, she re- 
sented it with instantaneous wrath. But she had be- 
come so used to the words, " poor Tacy," that she 
constantly thought that she was a little martyr to 
her misfortunes, and more sinned against than sin- 
ning, upon every occasion. Driving home that 
morning, after her encounter with her brother 
Jimmy, she was pricked by conscience deep do\\n 
in her heart for keeping Judy from her bath ; but 
she constantly excused herself at the same time by 
blaming her brothers for their selfishness. 

There was extra company to luncheon that day, 
and the boys took an earh- dinner, and were away 
fishing until night, so that by the time Tacy met 
them again, which was at breakfast the next morn- 




ing, something of the first freshness of the unpleas- 
antness had worn off. Tacy, too, had been put in 
great good humor by the fact that she was to have 
her mother's special friend, lovely Mrs. Arkwright, 
to drive with her that morning, Judy and the boys 
going together in the omnibus, or drag. Tacy 
was a great admirer of Mrs. Arkwright, and well 
she might have been, for Mrs. Arkwright was full 
of the most gracious kindness and tact. And Mrs. 
Arkwright liked Tacy, though she knew Tacy 
through and through, as Tacy had no idea that 
she did. Every one in trouble found a friend in 
Mrs. Arkwright, and Tacy, as they drove on 
through the lovely Newport lanes and by-ways, 
began to pour out hers, and it w-as not long before 
her good friend had a very clear idea how affairs 
stood just then. 

"Oh, it is such a pity ! " thought Mrs. Arkwright. 
"No one has ever told Tacy — no one has had 
the courage or the tact to know how to tell her 
just how it is. If some one could tell her, — could 
open her eyes, — I 'm sure it would n't do her any 
injury, but a great deal of good. Nothing can be 
so injurious as these constant quarrels and this 
morbid state of feeling that she has ; and Tacy 
has really noble cjualities, — so loving a heart ! " 

And thinking thus, Mrs. Arkwright looked 
around tenderly, pitifully, smilmgly at Tacy, who 
w-as in the midst of her grievances. Tacy saw the 
look, and responded with a smile of her own, and 
presently broke out impulsively: "Oh, Mrs. 
Arkwright, you are so kind and good and sym- 
pathetic, I feel sure that } ou would alwa\'S love 
me, whatever I might do ! " 

And then Mrs. Arkwright thought : "I wonder 
if /might not tell her some day. If the right time 
comes, I will." 

The time came sooner than she anticipated. It 
came on the occasion of the lawn party that Tacy 
gave in honor of her friend Judy. Everything had 
gone on very smoothly in all the preparations, and 
Tacy was in high spirits, with not a flaw or ripple 
to disturb her serenity. But just before her guests 
began to arrive, as she was standing with Judy and 
her brothers by the great window that opened on 
the front lawn, she reached out her hand and 
pulled down a beautiful big bunch of scarlet 
kalmia which grew near. Judy had a knot of scar- 
let kalmias on her shoulder ; why should n't s/ic- ? 

"Oh, don't, don't!" suddenly cried out 
Charley, who Avas the little artist of the family. 

" Don't what ?" asked Tacy, turning her eyes to 
him, as she thrust a long pin through the bit of 
grass that held the kalmias, and thus attached 
them to her shoulder, just at the left of her chin. 

"Why, don't put on that scarlet," explained 
Charley. " It looks horrid ! " 

" But Judy has it, and you thought it lovely on 
Judy a moment ago." 

"Well, I think so now; but you're not Judy. 
Judy has dark hair and eyes, and it somehow 
matches Judy ; but it fades you all out, and makes 
your skin look yellow and bricky. Here, I 'II 
get you something for a shoulder-knot," and 
the boy put out his hand to pluck some of the 
pale late roses that grew close to the kalmia. 

In a moment, Tacy had flung down the kalmias, 
and in the next moment had cried : 

" I don't want the roses ; I wont have them ! " 

"But, Tac)', wait a minute," began Charley; 
' ' your hair and skin " 

" I can't help iny hair and skin," sobbed Tacy. 

"I wasn't saying that 5'ou could," Charley 
hastened to say. "I did n't mean " 

"You meant to be rude; I do think my 
brothers are just the rudest boys in the world," 
she cried, turning to Judy. " They are always find- 
ing fault with me for what I can't help — always 
picking flaws and criticising me. I can not help 
my bad skin, nor my hair — I — I wish — I could. 
I wish — I could look like you, Judy, and then " 

" Oh, Tacy, Tacy, don't, don't cry \ Charley 
only meant that you were blonde and I brunette. 
Oh, you must n't cry, you must n't, Tacy ; for see, 
somebody is coming up the drive," said Judy. 

But it was too late ; the tempest of sobs already 
had the upper hand. Charley's words had touched 
the sorest and most sensitive spot in her nature, 
and Tacy could only fly frantically to her room to 
hide from her approaching guests her falling tears 
and struggling sobs. 

Judy started to follow, but a gentle touch de- 
tained her, and a low voice whispered : 

"I'll go, Judy." 

It was ;\Irs. Arkwright, who had come into the 
back drawing-room a few minutes before and heard 
everything. She had come to matronize the party 
in place of Mrs. Blundel, who was ill with neuralgia. 
Going slowly up the stairs, Mrs. ArkwTight waited 
a few minutes outside Tacy's door, — waited until 
the tempest of sobs had subsided a little, — then 
softly turning the knob, she went in. Tacy thought 
it was Judy and did n't move. 

" Tacy," called Mrs. Ark^vright's sweet voice. 

Tacy sprang up from the bed, where she was 
lying face downward. 

" Oh, Mrs. Arkwright, were you there, did you 
hear ? " she asked. 

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Arkwright calmly. 

" Did you hear what Charley said about my 
skin ? " asked Tacy. 

" I heard it all, dear," said her friend. 

"Oh, Mrs. Arkwright, you don't know what I 
suffer. It comes out everywhere — this misfortune 




of mine. Strangers look at me and feel at once 
that I am ugly; but to think that my own brother 
— " and Tacy sobbed convulsively. 

" Tacy, wait a moment. You think I love you, 
don't you ? " asked Mrs. Arkwright. 

" Oh, yes, yes ; I hope you do, Mrs. Ark- 
wright," Tacy answered, earnestly. 

" I love you very dearly, Tacy," Mrs. Arkwright 
went on. " I lost a little girl once who would 
have been just your age if she had lived, and you 
look like her, Tacy." 

" I ? " asked Tacy, in surprise. 

" Yes ; she had blue eyes like yours, and there 
sometimes conies into your eyes an expression so 
like my Alary's that 1 want to take you in my 
arms and keep you for my very own," she con- 

Tacy forgot for the moment her own grievance 
in this wonderful fact that was being told her. 

" I love you so much, Tacy, that I am going to 
talk to you, to tell you something just as I should 
my Mary if she were here and placed as you are." 

Tacy laid her hand over her friend's without 

" I not only love you, Tacy, but I admire very 
much certain qualities that you have." 

" Oh, Mrs. Arkwright." 

" You like to be loved, Tacy ? " 

"Better than anything, and nobody does love 
me, but Mamma and Papa and you ; I am so — so 
hideous. It is pretty people who are loved by 

" Not by any means. They attract at first, but 
they don't hold merely by beauty. The most 
popular persons whom I know, those who are best 
liked, are quite plain." 

"But not disfigured — not like me." 

"Tacy, dear, you think too much of yourself" 

"I — I?" 

" Yes. The way to be liked, to be loved, is to 
like — to love others, and wish to make them happy, 
not yourself Tacy, if you would try to forget 
yourself your disfigurement, as you call it, which 
you very greatly exaggerate, and not constantly 
make other people uncomfortable by taking of- 
fense at every slight thing that 's said, — things 
that are never meant, — if you would put all this 
aside, and give up your way and your plans, and 
act as, — well, just as if you -were the prettiest 
person in the world, — pleased, confident, and 
cheerful, — you would find yourself in a short time 
with more friends than any mere rosy beauty ; for 
you have so much brightness, so much — what shall 
I call it ? — magnetism, to attract and draw people. 
Why, Tacy, the other night at the concert at the 
Casino, you were listening with all your soul in 
your face ; and Mrs. Bernard said to me, ' What 

a fine, interesting face Miss Blundel has ! ' Tacy, 
you never look plain — hideous, yon call it — 
except when you are angry." 

All the time that she was talking, Mrs. Ark- 
wright had Tacy's hand in hers, and Tacy's head 
held against her breast. As she ended, she 
pressed her closer still, and said, softly : 

" My Tacy is not going to be angry with me — 
with one who loves her so well that she wishes her 
to be thoroughly appreciated by other people, and 
happy, as she certainly can be." 

Tacy drew a long, deep breath, and then lifted 
her head. There was a new look on her face — 
a look of wonder and timidity combined. As 
she met Mrs. Arkwright's eyes, she blushed, then 
said, with a noble candor that proved the existence 
of the generous qualities Mrs. Arkwright had dis- 
cerned : " Nobody ever found fault with me like 
this before — nobody ever found fault with meat 
all, except the boys, and that was generally when 
they were angry. Oh, I have been like a silly 
baby ! And now — you must be right, for you love 
me — and — I will try ; I will try." 

i^ilrs. Arkwright bent down and kissed her. " I 
knew that you could bear the truth, dear Tacy, and 
that is a great quality — few people can bear the truth 
when it is unflattering. Now come, let us go down. " 

Neither the boys nor Judy knew just when Tacy 
returned, for they were busy talking to the guests 
who had arrived ; but they were one and all not a 
little surprised when they suddenly saw Tacy 
pleasantly chatting to a group of girls, with not a 
trace of her recent tempest of tears. Throughout 
the rest of the day it was the same, — Tacy was 
trying to conquer herself It was no easy task. 
Now and then some one's will conflicted with 
hers. Once, it was Jimmy's, who had arranged a 
game of tennis, when slie had planned to go row- 
ing from the pier at the foot of the garden, for the 
Blundels' house was near the bay. At first, she 
began to speak in her old imperious fashion, then 
she recalled " Make thcin happy, not yourself; 
give up your way." She had promised to try; 
and in a moment she had gained a firm hold of 
herself, as it were, and was saying : 

" Oh, if you had planned a tennis-game, it 's all 
right. We will go rowing by and by, if you like." 

Jimmy dropped his tennis-racket, and stared up 
in amazement at his sister. His action — his look — 
more than anything, conveyed to her some idea 
of what a tyrant she had been — of the fear in 
which they held her. So it went on ; if she ac- 
cepted any plan, or fell in with any opinion with- 
out resistance and objection, the boys and even 
Judy showed such visible amazement that it was 
embarrassing. It was not easy to meet all this, 
but it nevertheless opened her eyes. 




That night, after all the guests were gone, Tacy 
went down to their own private pier at the foot of 
the garden, to think things over. Sitting there, 
in the shadow, quite unseen, she watched the boats 
in the harbor, and wondered if she had not, on the 
whole, been happier for her new efforts. Soon 
famihar voices struck upon her ear, and sire saw 
a boat drifting toward their landing. The voices 
were those of Bobby and Jimmy. She was just 
about to speak to them as they rowed toward the 
stair-way, when she heard Jimmy say : 

" If Tacy would be like that always, she 'd be the 
nicest girl 1 know. I like her better than Judy, 
when she 's in good humor, because she has so 
much ' go ' in her." 

Tacy held her breath with amazement. Better 
than Judy — pretty Judy ! 

"But was n't she angry though with Charley," 
he went on. " And Charley never meant what she 
thought he did. She 's got it in her head she 's 
a fright, and she 's always thinking about it, and 
thinking other people are thinking about it. Al- 
most conceited that is, 1 should say." 

" Tacy looks well enough when she 's pleasant. 
She looked very pretty to-day," put in Bobby. 

" Yes, Tacy is lovely when she 's in good humor. 
But when she's angry, — Oh, my!" and Jimmy 
stopped short, with an emphasis that spoke more 
than words. 

Perhaps it needed just this comment to put the 
final proof before Tacy, and to show her that she 
was on the right track at last. Not all at once did 
she succeed in keeping on this right track ; there 
were moments and hours when she faltered and 
slipped, but little by little her better judgment and 
her sense of justice got the upper hand, and little by 
little the boys forgot to be on the defensive, forgot 
the bitter title of " Tyrant Tacy," and her old ways 
in her new ways. 

A few months ago there was another lawn party 
at the Blundels'. It was a much gayer and larger 
party than the one 1 have just spoken of, for Tacy 
was now eighteen. Tall, slender, and graceful, 
she stood, the center of an animated group, as Mrs. 
Arkwright came down the wide path toward her. 
Mrs. Arkwright had just returned from Europe, 
where she had been for a year, and she saw a 
great change in Tacy. 

What was it ? She had not grown to be a 
beauty by any means ; she had the same palhd, 
uncertain-colored skin, but there was a different 
aspect about her altogether — a look of life and 
health and brightness. Mrs. Blundel joined Mrs. 
Arkwright as she paced slowly along. 

" You are thinking how well Tacy is looking, 
Mrs. Arkwright, I know. She began to mend 
two years ago. You remember how irritable the 

poor child used to be ? I always said that it was 
her state of health, and you see I was right. She 
is very different now." 

Tacy at this moment caught Mrs. Arkwright's 
glance. The next moment she had Mrs. Ark- 
wright's hands in hers, and a moment later, she 
had turned from the animated group about her 
and was walking down the lawn with her friend. 

" How well you look, Tacy ! " 

Tacy laughed. 

" That was what Mamma was saying to you, 
Mrs. Arkwright ; 1 knew by her glance. Dear 
Mamma ! I feel like a fraud, Mrs. Arkwright." 

'■ What do you mean ? " 

" Why, Mamma thinks my better behavior is all 
the result of a sudden improvement in my health, 
when " — and Tacy laughed again, half sadly — " it 
is my better behavior that has improved my 
health. Oh, when I think of the hot rages I used 
to have over trifles ! You opened my eyes, Mrs. 
Arkwright, and when I began to see myself as I 
really was, I hated myself, and when I began to 
mend those hot rages, my health mended." 

" I have n't a doubt of it, Tacy ; and you look so 
bright and happy now ! " 

The two walked down the garden together, and 
presently came upon Jimmy, now a tall lad of 
fifteen. He wasat the awkward, "hobble-de-hoy" 
age, and shrank from parties. He was trying to 
escape from this one at that very moment, and 
Tacy knew it. But she said nothing about it ; she 
only slipped her hand over his arm, and asked him 
about the new tennis-rackets. 

" Jimmy has a genius for making improve- 
ments," she explained, " and he has made a great 
improvement on the ordinary racket." 

Jimmy then felt called upon to explain also, and 
the next minute, they had come upon the tennis- 
ground, and almost before Jimmy knew it, he was 
sending the balls flying, and very soon after, he 
was playing a vigorous game with some young 
people, forgetting his hobble-de-hoy-hood and his 
dislike of parties. But as Tacy walked away, he 
looked over his shoulder, and called to her : 

" Can't you stay, Tacy, and take a hand ? " 

" Not now, but I will by and by, Jimmy," she 
said pleasantly. And as Tac)- walked away, Mrs. 
Arkwright noticed that it was like this with every 
one ; Tacy was wanted to take a hand in every- 
thing that was going on. 

When, at the end of the day, a very young, shy 
girl said to Mrs. Arkwright, "Tacy makes people 
so comfortable ! " she had touched the secret spring 
of Tacy's popularity. 

She made people comfortable, because she had 
learned a gracious tact through forgetting her- 

By Gail Hamilton. 

TO "h," 




Part I. 

With a Saxon King's word, and a Norman Duke's sword, 

William tl^e ^ ^ " " 


leading his horde, 
(1066) In ten-sixty-six, twice crowned, to make sure, 
To his son, 






his throne should inure — 
A soldier, a statesman, a ruffian, whom fate 
In the New Forest slew by the hand of his mate ; 
Brought to England a child, crowned in ten-eighty-scven, 
(If Heaven save the mark!) arrow-sent into Heaven! 
Next '^L^ 

his brother, — husband, father, and son 
Of Matilda, three women whose names were 
but one ; 

Called Beauclerc for his lore, yet at logical feud, 
When not in alliance, with Anselm the Good. 
He witnessed young Oxford fare forth to renown. 
With the century's close receiving his crown — 
But having no son, of his William bereft 
By the waves, to his daughter his kingdom he left, 
In the year thirty-five, as he fondly believed ; 
But with all his fine learning, the Kinc; was deceived, 
For sister Adda's son, .ti> 

Queen Matilda. 




To account himself other than very ill-used ; 
And as England elected him, daughter Matilda 
Found nothing but title-deeds whereon to build a 
Firm throne for her race, through nineteen troubled years. 
When Stephen, the winning but weak, calmed her fears 

.'Vrms of Stephen. 




By departing this life ; and her own boy was reckoned 
The sole King of England, as 

Of legal repute, with nothing to fleck it 
But the ill-advised murder of Thomas a 

His youngest son bad, and his oldest 

In the year eighty-nine he sank down, 



Henry III. 

(1189) his third son, rough, bluff absentee, 

Came home twice to be crowned, then 

roamed off over sea ; 
Crusader and captive, betrothed to young Alice — 
But bold Berengaria shared his sea-palace — 
Not only the Heart, but the head of a Lion — 
He found, like his father, no home-throne to die on 
Whose death to his base brother 

Queen Berengaria. 


power did bring, 
(1199) Being thus,» in ten years, third Plantagenet King; 

Him his own barons forced, all our freedom to cede, 
When he signed Magna Charta at green Runnymede ; 
(1216) But his fighting was stopped in twelve-hundred-sixteen. 
And his small 

appeared on the scene. 
Fierce quarrels with Leicester, his brother-in-law. 
And prison and blood, his first forty years saw; 
(1272) Then victorious peace until seventy-two. 

his son, came with all the ado 
Of the warfares of Wallace, and Balliol, and Bruce, 
With now and then, triumph, and now and then, truce, 
(1307) Till the seventh year dawned of the centuries' teens, — 
And his son 

on Isabel leans, — 
A monarch most weak, but the curse of his life 
Through his twenty years' reign was his Jezebel wife. 




Then his son, 



and Phihppa the fair, 
For fifty years fought at Crecy and Poitiers, 
And o'er Balhol and Bruce, — nor before then nor since, 
Braver warrior was seen than their son, the Black Prince; 
Whose son, 

Queen Pliilippa, 



a minor, the rout 
Of Wat Tyler put down, but himself was put out 
(1399) By his own cousin Hal, in thirteen ninety-nine, — 
John of Gaunt's son. King 

of the line. 

Fourteen years the old wars he fought m his turn, 
And first gave the law that made heretics burn ; 
He built up the church, not for God, but himself. 
And the Commons made strong, not for right, but for pelf 
Yet he pensioned old Chaucer, be sure to remember. 
And died like a saint in Jerusalem Chamber. 
His son, 

Wat Tyler. 


won at wild Agincourt — 
Bra\'e soldier, pure statesman, what would you have more? 
His son. 


EJwai.l IV. 

(in fourteen twenty-two ^ *^ 

An eight-months-old babe) took his wife from Anjou, 
Marguerite, but lost France through Orleans' brave maid 
Fought rebellion at home, was defied by Jack Cade ; 
Now prisoner, now king, through the wars of the Roses - 
A pure, gentle scholar, in cloud his life closes; 
Last legal Lancastrian. Then to the throne 

bore the White Rose alone : 
Son of Richard of York from third Edward descended, 
But in twelve years he died and his kingly line ended 


By the murder of 

in the Tower, 
With his poor little brother in one midnight hour- 

(1483) in fourteen eighty-three, 

Their uncle, assassin, base monarch might be ; 
Though in two years at Bosworth, his red sun went down, 

(1485) assumed England's crown ; 

A Welshman, a Tudor, an offshoot of Lancaster, 
He flung off Bellona as far as man can cast her ! 
Piled up gold, wed the daughter of Edward the Fourth, 
With his young Margaret bound King James of the North ; 
With his 

White and Red Roses blended. 
And thus to your joy my long ditty is ended. 

Part II. 

Not so fast ! 1 am ordered again to the fore, 
And when kings must be rhymed, there are kings in galore ! 
(1509) In fifteen and nine Henry Eighth brought the hope 

Of peace, and wrenched England away from the Pope. 

But fickle and savage and selfish, thouo-h able, 

He slew his best friends, who ate salt at his table ; 

Killed two of six wives — if you think he was good, 

With his loves and his murders — why, you have Mr. Froude I 

His son. 

1547) in fifteen forty-seven, 

For six shining years rose, a star in our heaven ; 
Then glowered bloody 

(1553) — ill-nurtured, ill-mated 

Learned, stupid, sincere, and right heartily hated, 
(1558) Till the year fifty-eight, — when uprose in her glory 


Queen of all art, song, and story. 
Proud maiden, great monarch — ah! never a crown, 
On the brow of a man, shone with brighter renown 1 
Strong-willed in the fire and the faults of her blood. 
Old England yet knows her as Queen Bess the Good. 

her successor, in sixteen and three, 
Proved a Tudor diluted in Stuart to be, — 
The rickety son of the Queen of the Scots, — 
He escaped from Guy Fawkes and his gunpowder plots. 
Forced our Pilgrims and Puritans homeless to flee. 
From his bigoted tyranny, over the sea ; 
But when he expired, in sixteen twenty-five, 
There were Puritans still left — at home and alive — 
His son, 

(1625) to the scaffold to bring ; 

■'^^ Who lied like a Stuart, but died like a king. 

In the year forty-nine, when forth with his sword 

Charles I. ' ' ' 


^^<r • ij^^ (16491 "the Scourge of the Lord." 

-iX??5>ff^'. ■ Yet his country knows well that no king has bedecked her 

With loftier bays than her sturdy Protector, — 
Held her high for nine years ; then the power he had won 
Gave in death to the weak hand of 

Oliver Cromwell. 

his son, 

(16581 Who cared not for honors, or army, or throne ; 

Richard ^ 

Cromwell. (1660) So, in si-xtccn and sixty, came back to his own. 

with welcome most loyal and glad. 
Kindly, careless, and witty, false, clever, and bad, 
For twenty-five years, then died with urbanity : 

James II. 

his brother, devoid of humanity. 
Dull, dogged, and cruel, sent Jeffries to slaughter, — 
Himself soon sent right about over the water. 



Man'. William III. 

(1688) Remember the year of sixteen eighty-eight, 
When his good daughter, 

/Aap^, and William 

the Great 

Of Orange, both Stuarts, born cousins, began 
Fourteen years of freedom, which simple 


Carried honestly on to a full 

dozen years ; 
Until brave 

■^■^^r~^ the Elector, appears 

Not much of a king, but enough, it was granted, 
^f*?, x'ra) To keep out the Stuarts — the only thing wanted. 

^^wff^^S Though the Stuart in Hanover blood was alone 

■". The force that bore him to the proud island throne. 
George I. (1727) Thus from twenty-and-seven to seventeen-sixty, 
His son. 


George IT. 

on the throne firmly fixed he 
Whose brave, stolid rule would have been far more sinister 
If he had not been led by a wise wife and minister. 
His grandson. 



George m. 

(1760) the next sLxty years stood 

In royal estate, stubborn, honest, and good — 
We slwuld be ungrateful to pass coldly by 
The dear King who gave us our Fourth of July ! 
Of his son, ^v-^^ 

Geop^e tl^e I^otiFtl2, 

(1820) the less said the better: 

For his reign of ten years is old England no debtor ; 

George IV. Nor Can 

William F^o^^tl^ 

/^^^^ ' (1830) be thought over-much given 

To King-craft, though King until thirty-and- 
wiiiiam IV. sevcn. 




Then welcome 

heir of each grace 
And each virtue that marked all the Kings of her race 
Not alone in the East is she greatest and best, — 
We own the sweet sway of Victoria West ! 
By her womanly worth, without contest or 

cost, .=?;=^r~--"!fe~^v '^'^r^^i 

She has won back the Empire her grand 
father lost. 

Her white hand was peace when our trouble was sore ; 
By that sign, she is Queen of our hearts evermore. 
The liegance of love sea nor sword shall dissever. — 
God's blessing be on her forever and ever ! 




Bv J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter \TI. 

Kit's heart almost jumped over the bars before 
him, in his exultation ; but he managed to tumble 
along with it, and in a moment he was at the 
horse's head. 

Dandy was not hitched, his bridle having been 
taken off with the saddle, and thrown over the 
boards separating that pen from the next. Kit ex- 
amined the forelock and found it not braided, but 
crinkled, as the young farmer had described. He 
backed him around to the light and saw the mot- 
tles under his sides. He lifted his feet, one after 
another, and saw that he was shoeless before and 
shod behind. 

Then he gave a chuckling, gleeful laugh, thrilled 
through and through with the delight of his dis- 
covery. It was no feverish dream ; he had the 
stolen horse at last ! 

He dropped the topmost bar, and tumbling out 
again, saw Mr. Cassius Branlow hastening toward 

" I 've found him ! I 've found him ! " said Kit, 
triumphantly, feeling amply repaid for all his pains 
and forgetting once more his hunger and fatigue. 

" You don't say ! " said Cassius. " Well, that 's 
better luck than I expected. I had just discovered 
these wagons and was coming over to have a look 
myself. Is that the saddle ? " 

" That 's the saddle, and that 's the bridle. I 've 
found everything but the thief I 'd give some- 
thing now," said the exultant Christopher, "to set 
eyes on him ! " 

" What would you do ? " Mr. Branlow incjuired. 

"I'd find the policeman I spoke to, and have 
the scoundrel arrested. 1 'd pay him for giving me 
all this trouble ! " 

" Yes, that would be fun, though you might be 
giving yourself a deal more trouble. I know how 
these things work ; and I advise you, now you 've 
found the horse, to secure it, and not mind much 
about the thief, who will be too shrewd to get 
caught. That is,'' added the friendly Cassius, 
" unless you care more for revenge than you do 
for your own convenience." 

" I 'd like to punish him ! " said Kit, with spark- 
ling eyes. 

"In that case, we can leave the horse and go 
off one side and watch when he comes to take it," 
suggested Mr. Branlow. " We might lie in am- 
bush under these sheds ; but the trouble is, he is 

probably watching us, and will keep out of the 

" I wish it were n't quite so late," said Kit. 
" I 'd like to take Dandy home to-night." 

"To do that, you '11 have to start at once ; and 
I advise you not to lose time by stoppmg to punish 

" He may have sold the horse," said Kit, growing 
thoughtful. " I think I 'd better see the police- 
man I spoke to, anyhow. He was more interested 
in the racing than he was in my story; but he 
told me to look for the horse, and if I found him, 
to come back and let him know." 

" Of course, you will act as you please," Mr. 
Branlow replied, discouragingly. "But I advise 
you to do nothing of the sort. Tell him you 've 
found a stolen horse ; and what will he say ? He 
will say, ' Prove property, and take him.' But how 
can you prove property ? " 

" Why, I know Dandy, and Dandy knows me 1 
You know me, too. Cash Branlow ! " 

" But the policeman does n't know you, nor 
me. I can swear I have known you three or 
four years, and believe you to be an honest boy. 
But how will he know I 'm not a rogue myself? 
At such times the best men are likely to be sus- 
pected," argued Mr. Branlow. 

" There 's something in that," Kit admitted. 

" Then if the thief comes forward, matters may 
become more mi.xed. Suppose he 's an honest- 
appearing fellow, as many of these rascals are ; 
swears up and down the horse belongs to him, 
and you are the rogue, trying to get it away ? 
What '11 be the result ? You '11 both be arrested, 
probably, and kept nobody knows how many days 
in the lock-up till your uncle and two or three 
witnesses can be sent for and the thing is at last 
straightened out." 

" I had n't thought of all this," Kit replied. 

"As a friend, let me think for you, and show 
you how to take advantage of the situation. Pos- 
session is nine points of the law. Here you are. 
Here 's your horse. There 's the saddle. Clap 
saddle on horse, pitch self on saddle, and off! 
Any complications regarding the thief, or any 
supposed new owner he may have been sold to, 
can best be settled after you have the horse safe in 
your uncle's stable at home." 

" I see," said Kit, bewildered by this rapidly 
uttered advice. 

" They are just calling another heat, over on 



F A U L T 

the trotting-ground," Mr. Cash Branlow contin- 
ued. " Everybody is crowding to see it. The 
coast is clear. You 've just time to run over to 
the pie-shop and get a bite for your journey. I '11 
have everything ready by the time you come 
back. Or will you start on an empty stomach ? " 

Kit felt that his stomach was almost too empty 
for that, and considered this counsel good. 


"Dandy was fed at noon; and now, if / am 
fed," said he, "we can make the home-stretch in 
a hurry ! " 

"Now you talk sensibly," replied Cassius. " It 
was lucky you came across me just as you did ! 
Do you need any money ? " — putting a hand into 
his pocket. 

" No, thank you ; I have some. Only look out 
for Dandy while I am gone ; and for the thief, if he 
comes around," said Kit. 

"How shall I know him ? " asked Cassius. 

"Haven't I told you?" said Kit. " 1 picked 

Vol. XII.— iS. 

up a complete description of him in making in- 
quiries on the road." 

" Indeed ! " said Cassius, gayly. " That 's 
lucky. Give us the points." 

" Young fellow, not much over twenty," be- 
gan Christopher. 

"Good!" exclaimed Branlow, getting his fin- 
gers ready, and touching the tip of his left fore- 
finger with the tip of his 
right. " Young fellow, 
not over twenty — " 

" Sallow comple.xion," 
Kit went on. "Smooth 
face. Suit of dark, 
checked cloth. Narrow 
brimmed straw hat. Me- 
dium height." 

"All right," said Bran- 
low, having recited each 
item after Christopher, 
and tallied it duly on its 
particular digit. "Me- 
dium height," adding 
the thumb of his right 
hand to his little mne- 
monic system. " I have 
him! I should know him 
in the biggest crowd by 
such a description as 

"Would you?" said 
Kit, wondering at this 
confidence. " I 've been 
afraid I might pass him ; 
so many men dress and 
look about alike." 

"That's true. But it 
is n't probable any two 
men have all these six 
points," said Branlow, 
holding up his four fin- 
gers and two thumbs. 
" Now make tracks, fill 
your pockets, and be 
back here by the time I 
have put on the saddle and bridle. I '11 stand 

It was a great satisfaction to Christopher to feel 
that he had a friend to aid and advise him in this 
difficulty. For all the trouble was not over, by 
any means, when he had found the horse ; the 
next thing, he now saw, was to get safely away 
with it. 

" How kind he was to offer me money ! " he said 
to himself, as he hastened away toward the bakery 
which Branlow had pointed out. "1 would n't 
have believed that 1 should ever be so glad to see 



Cash Branlow. He must have changed a great 
deal since he worked in the shop." 

That was not exactly years and years ago, as 
Mr. Branlow had said, in his extravagant way, but 
barely eighteen months. He had been a restless, 
untrustworthy fellow then. He was an apt me- 
chanic, but inclined to slight his work ; and he 
could never stick to it long at a time. When tired 
of staying in one place, and doing one thing, he 
would suddenly pack his little kit of tools, and 
set off on his travels, picking up a precarious living 
as an itinerant tinker. 

He was about twenty-six years old, though he 
appeared somewhat younger; and in the past four 
years he had come back twice to Mr. Downymede's 
shop, working for him a few months at a time in 
the intervals of his wanderings. Kit had a faint 
impression that he had been sent off the last time 
for some discreditable conduct, but he could not 
remember what it was. 

"Mother never liked him," the boy thought; 
"but she will be glad to know he has done me this 
good turn." 

Still, even with Cassius Branlow to stand guard 
over Dandy, Kit was unwilling to be out of sight 
of the horse many seconds ; he looked back as he 
ran, and in a very short time might have been seen 
returning, his pockets bulging with oyster crackers, 
and a half-eaten wedge of pie in his hand. 

Cassius advanced a few steps to meet him, 
beckoning impatiently. 

"Stow the rest of that inside your coat," he 
said, alluding to the pie; "and tumble into that 
saddle as quickly as ever you can." 

His hurried manner of speaking filled Kit with 
a kind of trepidation, though he could n't see what 
fresh cause there was for alarm. 

"The trotters are coming around in the last 
heat," Branlow muttered excitedly. "The races 
will be over in a minute. Then there '11 be a rush ! 
We must be out of this, you know, before the 
crowd comes." 

" Have you saddled and bridled him ? '' said Kit, 
stopping at the bars which his friend had let down 
for him, and peering into the shed. 

" He is all ready," said Branlow, following him 
in. "Foot in stirrup — there!" giving him a 
boost. " Don't hit your head ! the roof is abom- 
inably low. How are the stirrups? 1 took 'cm 
up a few holes by guess." 

" They are all right," mumbled Kit, with the 
last of the pie-crumbs still obstructing his speech, 
while his pockets dropped oyster crackers with 
every motion he made. "Where do you live now, 
— if I should want to know? " 

He had that day resolved and re-resolved that 
he would " think of things " in future ; and he aft- 

erward prided himself on having, in a moment of 
haste, considered a point which might prove im- 

" Right here in the village ; at work in the stove- 
store. Don't stop to thank me ! " said Cash, with 
the utmost urgency, helping to get the reins into 
Kit's hands ; for Kit was not much of a horseman, 
and the lowness of the shed-roof compelled him to 
bend forward awkwardly on the horse's neck. 

" See who comes to take him; spot the thief if 
you can, and let us know ! " mumbled Kit, with his 
mouth in the horse's mane. 

" I '11 spot him if he comes around," replied 
Branlow. " I have him on my fingers : dark com- 
plexion, checked shirt, and the rest." 

" Sallo-zo complexion, dark, checked suit," Kit 
corrected him, as he rode out from under the shed. 

'■ To be sure," cried Cassius. " I understand. 
Good-bye, and good luck to you !" 

And having led the animal well over the bars, 
Branlow gave it a parting slap. It started away 
at a trot. 

" Good-bye ! " Kit called back across his 

And he was off. 

Chapter VIII. 

The racing was over. The cheers for the vic- 
tors swelled in the damp evening air, and died 
away. A thin mist, rising from the river and the 
shores, was mingling with the nimbus of dust above 
the trotting-course, and the black mass of humanity 
there against the twilight sky was breaking up into 
scattering throngs, when a boy, wearing a base-ball 
cap, mounted on a dark horse, rode out briskly from 
the fair-ground, passed beneath the huge symbol of 
an ox-yoke over the gate-way, amid a few dodging 
pedestrians, and disappeared down the dim street. 

Kit knew there must be a nearer way home 
than the roundabout one by which he had come, 
and he found by inquiring that he had taken it on 
leaving the village. He watered his horse at a way- 
side trough, and was pleased to find him so spir- 
ited after his day's jaunt. 

" But, of course," he thought, "it has n't been 
so hard on Dandy as it has on me. He has fed 
and rested, and now he knows he is going home." 

The short twilight of the fall equinox was deep- 
ening into night; and the moon would not be up 
for an hour. But with the plain road before him. 
Kit did not care for the gloomy prospect. His food 
refreshed him ; he munched his crackers as he rode. 
The air was deliciously cool, and he found rest in the 
saddle after having been so long on his aching feet. 

The horse needed little urging. His hard trot- 
ting shook Kit up badly ; but his canter was not 



so objectionable ; and when tired of both canter 
and trot, Kit found him capable of a fast walk. 

" You do well, Dandy, after your day's run 
with a thief!" he said cheeringly. "I did n't 
know there was so much go in you. I wish I could 
have found the rascal ; and it seems as if I might 
have found him." 

He was not at all satisfied with his failure in that 
particular ; and now, with twinges of conscience, he 
reflected that Dandy might already have been sold 
to an innocent purchaser. 

" It was almost like stealing my own horse ! " he 
thought, with a troublesome sense of something 
wrong in the transaction. " I 'm afraid I ought 
not to have been so ready to take Cash Branlow's 
advice. With him to help me, nobody could have 
taken Dandy away again. Though I might have 
been bothered a good deal, as he said; perhaps 
hindered a day or two, till Uncle Gray could be 
sent for." 

Still he was haunted by an uneasy feeling that 
he had not pursued the most courageous and 
upright course, together with very disagreeable 
memories of things he had heard said of Mr. Cash 
Branlow in East Adam village. 

" But he seems changed; he certainly was kind 
to me," Kit comforted himself with thinking. 
"Why should he have taken such pains to help 
me away with Dandy, if he had n't thought it was 
for the best ? Anyhow, I have the horse ! And 
Cash can attend to any one who comes to claim 
it, just as well as if I were there." 

Meanwhile, the autumnalnight had closed around 
him, damp and chill, with far-stretching shadows 
infolding farms and woods, and silence disturbed 
only by the thud of his horse's hoofs, and occasion- 
ally an insect's melancholy note. No light save 
that of the stars shining hazily overhead, and here 
and there a gleam in some wayside window as he 

But now the soft radiance of the rising moon 
began to brighten the east. It grew to a dome of 
fire, and rolled up, a vast burning ball, on the hori- 
zon, with an increasing light, which mingled silverly 
with the mist that mantled the earth. Then the 
shadows passed from Kit's mind, and he thought 
only of the triumph of taking Dandy home. 

Unaccustomed to the saddle, he was tired enough 
of it before long. He made the horse trot, can- 
ter, and walk ; he tried all possible positions, ex- 
cept riding backward, to ease his jolted body and 
sore limbs. He missed the way two or three times, 
and once went some distance out of it before he met 
a man who set him right. 

At last he began to recognize familiar scenes, 
and knew the streets of his native village, which 
however, in the moonlight, appeared strange and 

romantic to him, as he rode through. He remem- 
bered the anxious haste with which he traversed 
them on foot in the morning, which now seemed 
many days ago, and with a glad heart he patted his 
horse's neck. 

The belfry clock was striking eleven as he ap- 
proached his mother's house, and saw a lamp burn- 
ing in the front window. 

"She is sitting up for me ! " he thought, with 
a thrill which sent quick tears into his dimming 
eyes. My ! but she '11 be pleased ! " 

He rode up to the little gate. Before he could 
dismount, the maternal ears, intently listenmg 
within, caught the sound of halting hoof-beats, 
and a window was thrown open. 

"Is that you, Christopher?" said the widow, 
putting out her head. 

" Yes 'm ! " cried Kit, eagerly. "I've found 
the horse ! " 

"I'm thankful!" she exclaimed, devoutly, a 
great burden of anxiety lifted from her mind by that 
good news. " I did n't believe it possible ! I have 
been concerned about you all day, and have blamed 
myself for letting you go away with so little money. 
How did you succeed ? Your uncle has been here, 
and he said it was a wild-goose chase." 

" So it was," cried the exultant Kit. "' But I 
have caught the goose." 

" Can't you come in and have some supper?" 
his mother asked. 

" No, I 'm notvery hungry. I must hurry along 
and let Uncle Gray know. I '11 see you, and tell 
you everything to-morrow," he added. 

" You 've had a hard time, I know ! " said the 
sympathetic mother. 

"Yes, but I have my pay; the nut's all the 
sweeter for the cracking," answered Kit, with a 
laugh. " I 'nx very glad I saw you. Now go to 
bed and sleep." 

" Yes, I will. Bless you, my son ! Good- 
night ! " 

"Good-night ! " 

And Kit rode away in the moonlight. The sound 
of the hoof-strokes could be heard long after horse 
and rider had disappeared up the half-moonlit, 
shadowy street ; and it was not until they had died 
in the distance that the window ■\\'as closed, and 
the widow turned away from fondly gazing and 
listening, murmuring, " Bless the dear bov ! " 
with a sigh of grateful relief 

The lights were out in his uncle's house when 
he came in sight of it ; nobody was sitting up for 
him there. 

Yet good Uncle and Aunt Gray were not asleep. 
He was too conscientious a man to feel quite at ease 
about the boy he had parted with angrily in the 
morning, let alone the loss of the horse ; and she 




had flung out more than once her very positive 
opinions on that painful subject. 

He had come home late from a harassing day's 
quest of both boy and horse ; and, in his nervous 
state, he thought it too bad that instead of the 
sympathy he craved, she should bestow upon him 
so much superfluous good advice of the retrospect- 
ive sort. 

" There 's no use tellin' me over and over ag'in 
what I 'd better have done," he replied to one of 
her arguments, groaning and turning on his pil- 
low. "Why can't ye tell me what to do now? 
You are so wise about things past and done for, 1 
wish you could show half as much wisdom re- 
gardin' the present and futur'. Tell me how to 
find the hoss, for one thing." 

" One would think your life was bound up in a 
hoss!" Aunt Gray replied. "1 don't see as it's 
any very terrible calamity if we never see Dandy 
Jim again. You 've money enough to replace 
him without feeling it." 

" I don't care about the hoss ! " said Uncle Gray, 

" I wish you had been of that opinion in the 
morning," his wife answered quietly. " One 
would have thought you cared something about 
it by the way you took on. It seemed to me 
you cared more for it than you did for Christo- 
pher. The idee of your fairly sending the boy off" 
your premises, and ordering him never to set foot 
on 'em again without the hoss ! " 

" There it is ag'in ! I had no notion he would 
take me at my word," said Uncle Gray. 

"Anybody who heard you would have thought 
a boy of spirit would take you at your word," Aunt 
Gray replied, with calm persistence. "And Chris- 
topher is a boy of spirit ; you '11 admit that." 

"Yes, he 's good enough in his way!" Uncle 
Gray grumblingly admitted, "if 't was n't for his 
one fault." 

" That 's nothing to be wondered at in a boy 
of his age. All boys are heedless. It is n't because 
he 's my nephew that I stand up for him," Aunt 
Gray continued ; " I believe I should have just as 
much patience with him if he were yours ; and I 
sometimes think you would have had a little more." 

" That 's as unjust a charge as you ever made 
in your life, which is saying a good deal ! " ex- 
claimed Uncle Gray, resentfully. "I'm sure I 
could n't have borne with him more if he 'd been 
my own son." 

" I am glad you will have that thought to com- 
fort you," she replied, in her cold, peculiar tone, 
which she could use with the most cutting effect ; 
" though I can't help wondering a little if you 
would really have stood by and seen a boy of your 
own go off, as Christopher did this morning, and 

not have called him back, even if you been in 
a passion." 

Another groan from Uncle Gray. 

" I was in a passion; I '11 own that. I was out 
of all manner of patience with the boy. But I 
supposed he would just go off, mebbe an hour or 
two, lookin' for the hoss, and then come back, or at 
least go home to his mother. He 's probably 
there, abed and asleep, by this time, — as we ought 
to be here, 'stead of frettin' the blessed night 
away over what can't be helped." 

" He was n't back there at eight o'clock, so 
Abram said. And now, if you can sleep, not know- 
ing what has become of him, or whether you '11 ever 
see him again, all I can say is, 1 'm glad you have 
so easy a conscience." 

There was a silence of a few minutes, broken by 
Uncle Gray's restless sighing and turning ; when 
suddenly Aunt Gray said, — " Hark! " 

" What did you think, or imagine, you heard? " 
said Uncle Gray. 

" A horse I And 't was n't imagination at all; 
1 hear him now! It^s Chris/op/ier / " And Aunt 
Gray started up. 

" Can't be ! " said Uncle Gray, hoping she would 
contradict him. " No such good news as that ! " 

" It is ! The horse has stopped at the barn. 
He '11 find everything locked up." 

She was up in a moment, lighting a lamp ; then, 
her garments thrown loosely on, she hastened to 
undo the back door. 

Some one was there before her. She slipped 
back the bolt and looked out. A boy, in a base- 
ball cap, stood in the moonlight, with one foot on 
the step. It took her a moment to recognize him 
(she had never before seen him in that cap) ; then 
she exclaimed ; 

" Christopher ! you have come ! " 

" Yes, Aunt," said Kit. " And I want the key 
of the stable." 

Chapter IX. 

When Kit, after his day's tramp and his long 
night ride, dismounted in his uncle's yard, he could 
with difficulty stand upon his feet. He felt as if 
the body they bore belonged to some one else, and 
that it weighed a ton. He was so stiff and lame 
that when he had lifted one leg up over the door- 
step, he could hardly lift the other. 

It was then and there he was met by Aunt Gray, 
whose second question was uttered with joyful 
eagerness as she peered out at him from the kitch- 
en-door : — 

" You have brought back Dandy ? " 

" 1 have brought back Dandy," Kit replied, with 
cjuiet exultation. 





She was asking more questions, fumbling for 
the key on the door-post, — when a loud voice 
was heard, proceeding from the bedroom. It was 
Uncle Gray calling out excitedly to know if the 
comer were indeed Kit, and if he had really found 

" He wont believe it till he sees you and hears 
your story," said Aunt Gray. " So you may as 
well come in and give an account of yourself" 

" I '11 slip Dandy into the stable ; then I '11 come 
in and tell how it all happened," said Kit. 

penders up on his shoulders as Kit entered the 
room, where the lamp was burning on the bureau. 
" How did you manage it ? " 

" I got on the trail, and stuck to it; and when 
I lost it, I looked till I found it again," said Kit ; 

for I was n't going to come back without the 
horse ! " 

" You must n't take what I said too much to 
heart," replied his uncle. " I spoke too hasty, and 
I did n't really mean what I said. Though the 
truth is, you had tried me dreadfully with your 

"l wasn't going to come back without the HORSE," SAID KIT. 

Elated by his aunt's surprise and joy over the 
success of his expedition, he took the key she gave 
him, and went limping vigorously to the stable, 
the door of which he threw open, leaving the reins 
on the horse's neck and waiting for it to walk 

■' Come, Dandy, are you, too, rusty in the hinges ? 
Or don't you know your own stable when you come 
to it at this time o' night? Well, you 're a stupid 
Dandy, I should say! Are you asleep? " 

And taking the horse by the bridle, he led it 
into the dark stall. The mare in the stall beyond 
gave a whinny of welcome, but had no whinny in 
response from Dandy Jim. 

Kit left the animal to stand with saddle and 
bridle on, while he went in to speak with his uncle 
and get a lantern. 

" Wal, f'r instance; you 'vc done it, Chris- 
topher!" said Uncle Gray, slipping his sus- 

heedlessness ; and when I found you 'd left the 
stable-door imlocked, and Dandy was gone in con- 
sequence, that was the feather that broke the 
camel's back." 

" I don't blame you a 1jit,"said Kit with earnest 

'■ Well, I 'm rej'iced to hear you say that. And 
it 's all right now you 've brought Dandy back. 
But where in the world — how did you find him?" 
asked his uncle. 

At the cattle-show, over in Pcaceville. I 
traced him there, and found him in a shed. There 
was nobody with him at the time, and I just took 
him and rode him home, " answered Kit. 

" Wal, you were smart, I must say ! " ejaculated 
Uncle Gray. " And you did n't manage to get 
hold of the thief ? " 

" No; he was in the crowd watching the races, 
I suppose. I should have been glad enough to catch 




him if I had had time, and could have been sure 
of doing it. But it was growing dark, and I thought 
Dandy was of the first importance." 

"That 's right, that 's right," said Uncle Gray, 
approvingly. "You've been smart, for once. 
Think of the fellow's surprise, comin' back, to find 
the hoss he had taken had been taken from him ! 
A boy so, I don't know as you could 'a' done any 
better. " 

"All I was afraid of was that he had already sold 
Dandy to some one else," said Kit, glad to free his 
mind of the only doubts he felt regarding the 

"I see," said Uncle Gray; "but you could n't 
well help that. The hoss is mine, and you had a 
right to take it, no matter whose hands it had 
fallen into. You 've brought it back, and that 's 
the main thing." 

The worthy man chuckled with pleasure, so 
well satisfied with the said " main thing" that he 
could not think of criticising any part of Kit's 

"I don't know that I should have got away so 
well, if it had n't been for Cassius Branlow," said 

"That fellow!" said Uncle Gray. "Have you 
seen him ? " 

Kit explained briefly, 

" Wal, f'r instance! I'm glad to know of his 
doing anybody a good turn. He owed it to you, 
for your pa's sake, if he did to anybody. Your pa 
befriended him, and tried to make something of 
him, long after most folks had given him up as 
a bad job. I don't know but he gave ye good 
advice, under the circumstances; but I hope he'll 
find out who went to claim the hoss, and let us 
knou'. Brought Dandy home in good condition, 
have ye ? " 

" I think so," said Kit. " You need n't put on 
your boots ; I can attend to him. He 's been 
watered. He wont need anything but hay to- 
night, will he ? " 

" Mebbe not. 1 '11 go out and see how he looks, 
after he 's cooled off a little ; and see to lockin' up 
the barn ag'in," added Uncle Gray. 

Meanwhile, Aunt Gray had lighted the lantern 
for her nephew, and left it waiting on a chair while 
she placed a little supper for him on the kitchen 

" I '11 go out and give Dandy some hay, and 
bed him down, before I eat anything," said Kit, 
"and see if I can't shut up the barn myself, for 
once, without leaving the key in the door." 

He could afford to speak cheerfully now of his 
blunder of the previous night. 

" There 's no need of Uncle's going out at all," 

(To be a 

he added, stepping with the lantern into the moon- 
lit space between house and barn. 

The stable-door was in shadow ; but the lan- 
tern lighted it up, and threw its glimmer into the 
stalls beyond. In the farther one, the mare, putting 
her nose around the edge of the partition over the 
manger, to sniff at her neighbor, just then gave a 
vicious squeal. 

" What 's the matter with the vixen ? " said Kit. 
" She 's the only creature on the premises that 
is n't glad to see you back again, old Dandy Jim ! " 

He hung his lantern on a hook designed for it, 
where it would partly light both barn and stalls. 
Then he went up into the loft and threw down some 
hay into Dandy's rack. Finally he came around, 
and slapped the sedate nag in a friendly way be- 
fore removing the bit. 

" I 'm pretty well, thank you ; how are you, old 
boy ? " he said, slipping the bridle off and the hal- 
ter on, to the momentary annoyance of the animal, 
already nipping at the hay. "Seems to me you 
appear to feel strange ! " he added, as he un- 
buckled the girth. 

He took off the saddle and hung it in its place, 
and scattered straw for Dandy's bed. Then he 
brought the lantern and held it where he could look 
the horse carefully over and see what it was that 
did not appear just right about it. 

Suddenly the solid globe seemed sinking away 
from beneath the feet of Master Christopher. He 
started back, then bent forward again with a cry, 
consternation freezing his soul. "O my life! O 
my life ! " he moaned in a tremor of wild terror 
and dismay, which would have made even an 
enemy pity him. 

Still a faint, ghastly hope struggled against his 
fear. It must be the long day's jaunt which had 
somehow wrought an astounding change in the 
horse. Kit looked more closely at its sides, where 
no mottles were to be seen ; but that might be ow- 
ing to the imperfect light. He pulled down the 
head, and held with shaking hand the lantern to 
the forelock, which had not the least appearance of 
ever having been braided ; but it was just possible 
the night dews had straightened the crinkled locks. 

Lastly he lifted one foot after another, and found 
them shod before and behind ! 

With horrible sickness of heart he leaned back 
against the side of the stable and tried to gather 
his wits together, — tried to remember how the 
mistake had happened, and think what was now 
to be done. 

But to his scattered wits there only one thing 
clear : 

The horse he had brought home was not Dandy 




(A I 'alejiiifie. ) 

By Margaret Johnson. 

The knight of olden time, they say. 

Went bravely out to battle. 
And stood serene amid the strife, 

The din and roar and rattle, 
Because he carried on his arm 

A ribbon or a glove, 
And fought and won, or fought and fell, 

All for his lady-love. 

So, Cousin Alice, jou, I see, 

Wear ribbons with your dresses ; 
Please, will you spare one pretty bow 

From off your braided tresses. 
Just to remind me, day by day, 

I must be good and true, 
A valiant knight to serve the right, 

Because — 1 'm fond of vou? 

We boys may be like knights, they say, 

Although our lives are quiet. 
And though we may not ride to war. 

With martial clank and riot, 
Yet we may still be brave and true, 

And fight against the wrong, 
And, like the gallant knights of old. 

Help other lives along. 

Then, Cousin Alice, let me wear 

Your pretty colors gayly. 
And they shall make me kind and true. 

And brave and gentle, daily : 
For, like the knights of olden time, 

I promise, "honor bright," 
If you 're my little Valentine, 

To be your faithful Knight. 




By C. F. Holder. 

As MOST of my young 
readers are doubtless well 
aware, there is a contin- 
ual warfare between the 
insects and the birds, the 
latter finding in the for- 
mer their natural food. 
Knowing this, any excep- 
tion wc may find to the 
rule must seem very 
remarkable, especially 
when we see, as in the 
accompanying picture, a 
bird and a spider not only 
on terms of the closest 
friendship, but actually 
partners in house-build- 
ing. The bird is the pur- 
ple sun-bird named by 
naturalists N cctarinia 
Asiatica. It is common 
in man\' parts of India, 
where it flits among the 
trees in gorgeous garbs 
of deep purple-blue, flash- 
ing green, gold and yel- 

At the nest-building 
time, the sun-bird search- 
es the woods until it finds 
the large shining web of 
a certain kind of spider. 
This it proceeds forth- 
with to 
p r i a t e 
without fur 
ther cer- 
e m o n y, 
though we 
can well im- 
a g i n e that 
there has been 
some understanding 
between Messrs. Spider & 

The web is generally spun % 
between two stout limbs, and 
web the bird begins to place all 
bish, such as bits of grass or fiber, and pieces of 
paper and cloth picked up or stolen from some 

upon this 
sortsof rub- 

neighboring camp. At first the spider must be 
somewhat astonished at the capacity of its net for 
catching such strange flies. But, curiously enough, 
as fast as the bird places these objects upon the 





web, the spider secures them with its silk, spin- 
ning industriously and assisting its friend as much 
as possible. Finally, when the materials have ac- 
cumulated until they reach the limb, they are 
fastened to it, and bound over and over, first by 
the bird and afterward by the spider. Now the 
nest begins to assume a definite shape ; in appear- 
ance like a bottle, a flask, or a dome ; the grass 
and twigs being generally wound in and out by the 
bird and then covered by the silk of the spider, both 
bird and insect working harmoniously, until they 
have made a perfect dome-shaped nest hanging in 
the rnidst of the web, partly supported by it and 
partly hanging from the limb. In some nests an 
entrance is left at the bottom ; but usually it is at 
one side near the upper end, with a little platform 

or awning built out over it by the bird, to keep 
out the rain. 

The nest would now naturally be a very con- 
spicuous object; but the spider's work is not yet 
done. It continues to spin its silken web around 
the nest, carrying the threads from one part to 
another, inward and outward, forward and back, 
until finally, after spinning miles and miles of silk, 
the nest is completely hidden behind a screen of 

Here, together, the partners live ; the spider 
rearing its young 'on the outside, and the sun-bird 
caring for its eggs and young within. In this queer 
partnership the spider is, evidently, not the loser, 
as it certainly gains peace and protection from the 
presence of its feathered friend. 

By Frank R. Stockton. 


The Campo Santo is in some respects a peculiar 
cemetery. One thing which makes it very differ- 
ent from what we e.xpect to see in a city dating 
from the Middle Ages, such as Genoa, is that there 
is nothing at all antiquated, or old-fashioned, 
about it. It will be to us a curiosity of modern 

This Campo Santo is about a mile and a half 
from the city, and is built in the form of a vast 
square court, with the tombs of the rich in raised 
galleries on the four sides, and the graves of the 
poor in the flat ground in the middle. All the 
galleries are built of white marble, with roofs and 
long lines of pillars ; and the tombs are generally 
placed along the inner side of the galleries, and the 
greater part of them are surmounted by groups of 
life-size statuary. It is these statues, all of them the 
work of famous modern Italian sculptors, which give 
to the place its queer and peculiar character. Many 
of the groups consist not only of statues of the per- 
sons buried in the tombs, but life-like figures of the 
surviving relatives dressed in modern clothes. In 
one place you will see a father on his death-bed, 
his wife, dressed in the fashion of the present day, 
sitting by his side, while his son, a young man in 
double-breasted sack coat and striped trousers, 
and a daughter, with a polonaise and pleated skirt. 

stand at the foot of the couch. These figures are 
so well done that they almost seem to be alive ; 
and as the members of the family come year after 
year to the cemetery, they must be content to 
see the clothes they were sculptured in getting 
more and more old-fashioned. Some of the de- 
signs are fine and artistic, although to our ideas 
very strange. 

In one part of the grounds we perceive a young 
lady richly attired in a dress with a long train trim- 
med with a double row of ruffles and lace, and wear- 
ing a cape edged with scalloped lace, kneeling at 
the foot of her father's tomb, while a grand and 
beautiful figure of Christ rises out of some clouds just 
in front of her, and with one hand over the recum- 
bent statue of her dead father, and one over her 
head, offers her consolation. In another place 
there is a group of two sisters, who are kneeling by 
the door of the tomb of a third sister ; the door of 
the tomb is partly open, and the buried sister, in 
company with an angel who holds her by the hand, 
has just come out of it, and is rising toward the sky ; 
as these figures are life-size, the effect is very 
striking. Close to this tomb is one which is 
planned upon an entirely different idea ; a large 
old angel with a long beard and a very grim and 
severe countenance is sitting solemnly upon a 
closed tomb. His expression gives one the idea that 
he has looked around upon the young lady who 




has been liberated by the angel, and that he has 
said to himself: " The person in the tomb on which 
I am sitting need not expect to get out until the 
proper time comes." There is no doubt that these 
groups are considered very appropriate monuments 
to deceased friends and relatives by those who have 
placed them there, but some of them can not fail 
to strike Americans as strange and odd. Some of 
the monuments, however, are very beautiful, with- 
out any of these queer fancies ; and there are many 
portrait-statues of deceased persons. One of these 
is a figure of an old woman, exactly life-size, who 
was known in Genoa as a great friend of the poor. 
She used to carry them bread and other things 
which they needed, and she is here represented 
wearing the dress in which she walked about the 
town, and carrying a loaf of bread in her hand. The 
statue was ordered by her before her death, and 
she was very careful to have it made precisely like 
her ; her gown, her stiffly-starched clean apron, 
her cap, and the material and pattern of her shawl 
and allher clothes are exactly imitated. Altogether, 
she is one of the most life-like old women in mar- 
ble that you are ever likely to see. In contrast 
with this statue is a beautiful marble figure of a 
little child lightly dressed, who is stepping with an 
airy tread above a mass of flowers. The action is 
so free and graceful, and her expression so lovely 
and natural, that her parents, when they come 
here, must think they see their little daughter 
bounding out to meet them. 

On the side of the great square opposite the 
entrance to the cemetery is a large circular chapel 
with a lofty dome. It is approached by a flight 
of steps, and presents an imposing appearance. 
The interior of this white marble edifice is very 
handsome, the dome being supported by great 
columns of black marble, each cut out of a single 
block. But the most charming thing in this build- 
ing is a wonderful echo. The man who shows the 
place to visitors stands under the dome, and sings 
a few notes ; in a moment these are repeated, 
clear and loud, from the expanse above. The 
effect is so fine that we make him go througli the 
performance over and over again. 

About five miles from the city is the celebrated 
Villa Pallavicini, which is considered one of the 
great sights of Genoa. We can go to the place by 
a line of horse-cars, which here have the English 
name of " tramways." In many parts of the con- 
tinent of Europe, where horse-cars are now quite 
common, this English word has been adopted ; and 
if it has no other good effect, it may teach the 
French the use of the letter W, which is not rec- 
ognized in their language. The villa belongs to 
a rich and powerful Italian family, and visitors are 
allowed to see it. When we reach the great gate 

we apply at the porter's lodge for a guide, for 
people are not permitted to go about the grounds 
alone. After walking up a broad avenue, we enter 
another gate, and soon come to the house, a beauti- 
ful and spacious edifice, with marble porticoes, and 
terraces. A few richly furnished rooms are shown, 
but as the Pallavicini family reside here part of the 
year, we can not see the whole of the house. But 
it is not this princely residence that we come to 
see ; it is the extensive pleasure-grounds around 
the house, which are planned in a manner very 
different from anything to which we are accus- 
tomed. These grounds, which lie on a hill above 
the house, are very beautiful, and are crowded 
with all sorts of imitations of natural objects, with 
queer and ingenious devices of many kinds, as well 
as with most lovely groups of flowers and plants ; 
while a great variety of evergreens and other trees 
are so arranged as to give the grounds the appear- 
ance of a wood, although they are placed with such 
skill that the sun is, by no means, always shut out. 
As we walk along the winding paths leading up the 
hill, we see great masses of camellias, oleanders, 
roses, azaleas, and other rich flowers ; some of the 
camellias being as large as small trees. Plants 
from every part of the world are to be found here, 
coffee, tea, vanilla, sugar-cane, camphor, and even 
specimens of the cork-tree. But we shall see that 
the person who designed these grounds had an eye 
for the queer and surprising as well as for the 

The walk through the grounds will occupy us 
about two hours, and we shall see something novel 
at every turn. Speaking of turns, there are swings 
which revolve like great wheels instead of merely 
going backward and forward, and in which we can 
take a turn if we choose. Near these is a hand- 
some little marble edifice, built on the occasion of 
a visit that the Empress Maria Theresa made to 
this villa. 

When we get to the top of the hill, we see a 
castle, strongly fortified, but which appears to have 
been somewhat damaged. These damages are all 
artificial, and the castle was built to look as if it 
had sustained a siege. All about are evidences of 
the great fight which never took place. Near by 
are a number of graves which are intended to rep- 
resent the resting-places of the men (who never 
existed) who fell during the siege. Among them 
is the handsome mausoleum of the imaginary com- 
mandant of the castle, who died an imaginary 
death during the imaginary conflict. The person 
who planned these make-believe vestiges of war, 
which cost a great deal of money, must have had 
an odd idea of making a place interesting. We 
can go into the castle, and from the tower we have 
a grand view of the sea and the country, as well 



as of the extensive Pallavicini estate, which ex- 
tends foi- a great distance. 

Coming down the other side of the hill, we reach 


a grotto, which is entirely artificial, but with real 
stalactites and stalagmites, brought from real cav- 
erns, and all arranged in the most natural manner; 
with a subterranean lake, over which we are taken 
in boats. On this side of the hill is a wide and love- 
ly landscape- garden containing several lakes, one 
of which is quite large. As we walk along, we see 
some ordinary swings, and if we sit down in one of 

them, a jet of water sends a fine shower all over us ; 
in another jjlacc, in passing through an open path, 
and the sun shinmg brightly above us, we find our- 
selves in a sudden show- 
er of rain. This is occa- 
sioned b) our stepping 
on a concealed spring in 
the path which immedi- 
ately surrounds us with 
thin high jets of water, 
which fall in sparkling 
drops upon us. There 
are other tricks of this 
kind, and they must have 
been very amusing at 
first to the Pallavicinis, 
although I do not believe 
they asked the Empress 
Maria Theresa to sit dow n 
in one of the squirting 
swings. The large lake is 
very beautifully arranged, 
wide in some places, and 
narrow in others, with 
all sorts of cun-es and 
bends, and with pretty 
little bridges crossing it 
at different places. We 
can get into boats, and be 
rowed all over it, passing 
under the bridges, among 
little islands, and into 
the shade of the beautiful 
trees which line its banks, 
some of them drooping 
their graceful branches 
into the water. In some 
places the banks are rich 
with flowers, and every- 
thing is planned to look 
as natural as possible. In 
the center of the widest 
part of the lake stands an 
exquisite marble temple 
surrounded by columns, 
and containing a statue 
of the goddess Diana. 
Some of you will think this Grecian temple the 
prettiest thing in the whole grounds. 

We will now leave the Villa, with its beauties, 
its queer surprises, and its imitations: and we must 
also leave the bright, bustling, and interesting 
city of Genoa, with a hope that never again will it 
be obliged to bend the knee to a foreign foe or a 
domestic disturber of its peace and prosperitv. 


Ralph's winter carnival. 


By George A. Buffum. 


Ralph Rodney's uncle lived in Montreal, and 
Montreal was to have a winter carnival. Natu- 
rally, Ralph Rodney's uncle invited Ralph's father 
and mother to visit Montreal during the carnival 
and to bring Ralph with them ; and, naturally, 
also, when Ralph Rodney's father and mother 
accepted the invitation, Ralph was about the 
happiest boy in Boston. 

Of course, most of the boys and girls know what 
a carnival is. It is a jolly good time out-of-doors 
in the warm Southern cities, like Florence and 
Rome and Naples in Italy or like New Orleans 
in our own land, where it is a sort of festival of fun 
and masquerade and fancy dresses during the four 
weeks just preceding Lent. But Montreal has n't 
a particularly "warm Southern climate," and the 
idea of a "winter" carnival rather sent the cold 
shivers through Ralph Rodney's anticipations. He 
had never been so far North before, and he had 
fears about freezing his ears and his nose. 

" I wish my seal-skin cap was larger and that my 
ear-tabs were snugger," he confided to his mother ; 
but she assured him that his aunt and his cousins 
in Canada would show him just how to protect 
himself from the cold, and that he need not borrow 

Well, the longed-for time of departure arrived 

" The ice paLicc is of a new 

at last, and one crisp January evening Ralph 
Rodney, with his father and mother, took the 
night train on the Boston & Montreal Railroad, en 
route for the winter carnival. 

A ride of fifteen hours brought them in safety to 
Montreal. They crossed the great Victoria Bridge, 
and Ralph scarcely knew which was the greater 
wonder — the big bridge, or the broad St. Law- 
rence, white with its winter covering of ice and 
snow. Ralph's indefinite fears as to whether the 
custom-house officers would not arrest him as 
a smuggler, because he happened to be carrying a 
few presents to his Canadian cousins across the 
line, were speedily set at rest; and once out of the 
Montreal station, he enjoyed hugely the ride in 
the comfortable hack sleigh, almost smothered in 
great buffalo-robes. He was soon taken to his 
uncle's door. On the way there the sleigh passed 
the ice palace, erected for the carnival in Dominion 
Square, near the great Windsor Hotel. It was 
built of large cakes of ice, two feet thick, having 
a high central tower, and smaller towers at the four 
corners.* From the top of the towers waved the 
flags of different nations, and under the morning 
sun the glittering, dull blue structure looked more 
like a fairy creation than the result of three weeks' 
hard labor of men and horses. 

architectural design each year. 



Ralph's cousins, Charlie and Clara, were de- 
lighted to welcome him. Breakfast was hardly 
finished before they were initiating him into the 
mysteries of Canadian costumes and sports. Long 
knit stockings and deer-skin moccasins were 
brought out, and he was told that these were the 
only proper things to wear in this dry and light 
Canadian snow. Then a variety of pointed knit 
caps made of scarlet and blue yarn, which thev 
called /oqius (pronounced looks), each with a 
large tassel at the end, were produced ; and Ralph 
was informed that a toque was the only 
proper cap, being close and warm, ^, 
and a perfect protection to the 
ears. Next, he was mtro- 

or Indian sled, 
which he had oft- 
en heard. It was 
made of a thin 
board, grace- 
fully curved at 
the forward end, 
with cross and 
pieces sc- 

of snow-shoes, and showed him how to fasten 
them upon his moccasined feet by a peculiar knot, 
which would not slip. Charlie gave him some 
indoor lessons, and told him that he must not 

ced to the toboggan, ^ ^ 



curely bound to it by deer thongs or sinews, so concluded that he had got the peculiar " shack " 

as to make a light and strong flat sled. These movement necessary, and was anxious for the time 

varied in length from four to eight feet, and were to come, when he could prove to his cousins his 

generally covered with a carpet or cushion. Lastly, apt scholarship. 

Ralph's cousins presented him with a new pair Lunch over, a start was made for the tobogganing 


Ralph's winter carnival. 


slide. There are several of these slides at Mon- 
treal, on the mountain-sides, built and kept in 
order by clubs of young men, who are very fond 
of the sport. The winter is the dull business 
season in Montreal, as the great river is blocked 
with ice; and many who are exceedingly busy in the 
summer months have much spare time during the 
winter. But they are not idle ; they play then 
about as hard as they work in summer, and chief 
among their sports is toboggan-sliding. The club 
dress is a very pretty one, made of white blanket- 
ing, one club being distinguished from another by 
the colors of the blanket-borders, and also by their 
sashes and toques. 

When Ralph's party came in sight of the Mount 
Royal slide, it was crowded with club members, 
their friends, and spectators, and presented a very 
novel and picturesque appearance. Ralph had 
brought an extra toboggan with him with the inten- 
tion of steering himself down the slide, but, when 
he saw toboggan after toboggan, loaded with two 
or more sliders, dash down the steep shoot of the 
starting platform, glide at railway speed along the 
icy incline, jump several inches into the air over 
the smooth bumper, or cahof' , and then take a final 
plunge down the long slide between tlie great 
snow-banks, his confidence in himself rather gave 
way, and he concluded to postpone his experiments 
in steering until the slide was less steep or less 
crowded. But Charlie, who looked like a young 
Polar bear, in his white suit, was not to be put off. 
Ralph must slide and he would guide him. So, 
together, the two boys mounted the platform, Char- 
lie carrying his toboggan upon his shoulder as 
a soldier would carry his musket. When tlicy 
reached the top of the slide, Ralph looked down with 
fresh misgivings. The pitch was so steep and the 
toboggan which had just started went so swiftly, that 
he would gladly have backed out. But his pride 
and Charlie's " Oh, pshaw, there 's nothing to be 
afraid of ! " alike led him to take his place upon 
the toboggan, which Charlie was holding upon the 

" Are you ready? " said Charlie. 

" Yes," said Ralph, " as ready as lever shall be." 

" Well, then, hang on ! " cried his cousin as he 
jumped on behind Ralph, sitting on sideways, with 
his left foot extended backward to serve as the rud- 
der with which to steer their course. Away they shot 
down the steep declivity, with the wind rushing and 
whistling about Ralph's ears. As he approached 
the ca/iof he instinctively shut his eyes, and he did 
not need to be told to hold on, for the terrific pace 
and the bumping motion of the toboggan made 
him grasp the low side-piece in desperation. The 
cakot once safely passed, he began to enjoy his 
rapid slide, and he had just begun to wish it was 

''A caJiot is a hole worn in the slide by 

longer, when the toboggan in front of them slewed 
around and "spilled " its load off. Before Charlie 
could steer to one side, they too were upon the 
wreck, and were themselves "spilled." In an in- 
stant another toboggan came dashing among them, 
and thus three sled-loads were promiscuously 
mixed up upon the slide. Fortunately no one was 
badly hurt, for these toboggans are so light and 
elastic that the chances of injur>' are very much 
less than with our heavier steel-shod sleds, and in 
a few moments all were up again, laughing at their 
mishap and brushing off the dry snow. Ralph was 
initiated now, and as eager for another slide as his 
cousin could have wished him to be. He was sorry 
enough when his aunt summoned them home to 
dinner. On his way down the Cote des Neiges 
road he tried steering his own toboggan on the 
steep places, and soon found tliat it " answered the 
helm," as the sailors say, very readily. So he de- 
termined that the next day he would try the mount- 
ain slide alone, and soon show his cousin Clara 
that he could steer her down the shoot as well as 
her brother could. Under Charlie's supervision 
he also put his efiforts in snow-shoe walking to a 
practical test, and though his first attempts were 
rather disastrous, he soon mastered the science and 
became really skillful with the snow-shoes. 

Dinner was hardly over before it was time for 
them all to go down to Dominion Square to see 
the inauguration of the ice palace, and the torch- 
light procession of the snow-shoe clubs. Their 
first view of the palace on reaching the Square 
was enchanting. It was brilliantly ilkiminated 
with electric lights, which shone through its sides 
and gave it the appearance of a large structure of 
ground glass. A band of music was playing in- 
side, and thousands of people in their warm furs 
and gayly colored head-dresses were crowding 
about it. A slight snow was falling, the air was 
cold, but dry, and the whole scene made Ralph 
think of pictures he had seen of winter sights in 
Moscow and St. Petersburg. Soon there was a 
cry of " Here they come," and tlien at the north- 
ern end of the Square the torches of the snow- 
shoe clubs were seen approaching. On they came, 
and after several hundred had filed by, and their 
torches had surrounded three sides of the Square 
with a line of light, at a given signal, a shower of 
rockets ascended from the middle of the Square, 
Roman-candles were let off from the whole line of 
snow-shoers, and the ice palace was brightly lighted 
with colored fires, one tower being red, another 
green, and another blue. The effect was almost 
magical. Ralph was well acquainted with Fourth 
of July fire-works (as what American boy is not ?), 
but to see such effects in a snow-storm was novel 
indeed. He watched the whole parade — a 

the frequent passage of the toboggans. 


Ralph's winter carnival. 


thousand snow-shoers in their jiicturesque wliite 
suits, and then returned home, and from the win- 
dows of his uncle's house he watched the hne pass 
and repass across the top of the mountain and then 
wind down its side, doubhngback and forth in the 
descent four or five 
times, until finally 

does not permit to tell of his jolly snow-shoe trips 
over the mountain, or how he went to the fancy- 
dress skating carnival at the Victoria Rink, or how 
he watched the curling clubs at their exciting games 
upon the ice, but you may be sure that he consid- 

he saw it 
sank into 

as it 

" the mellow shade, 
Glitter like a swarm of 
lire-tlies tangled in a 
silver braid." 

Ralph Rodney's 
first day at the car- 
nival was but the 
beginning of a se- 
ries of days that 
were filled with de- 
light, and crowd- 
ed with sights and 
scenes to be long 
remembered. He 
became an enthu- 
siastic tobogganer, 
and was soon up 
in all the ways and 
talk of the noble 
ice-slide ; while 
Charlie held his 
enwrapped atten- 
tion with an excit- 
ing account of how 
he had once gone 
tobogganing down 
the ice-cone of the 
Falls of Montmo- 
renci, near Quebec 
— a great winter 
resort for Cana- 
dian tobogganists. 
Charlie told him 
how the ice-cone 
rose over a hun- 
dred feet high at the foot of the Falls, where it , 
is made larger each day by the new spray that 
freezes upon it, and he told him of the great cavern 
in the cone, and of so many other wonders that 
Ralph was anxious to add Quebec, also, to his winter 
trip, and enjoy all the glory of tobogganing down 
the great shoot of the Alontmorenci Falls. Space 

cred his visit to Montreal a grand success, and 
his only regret is that Boston can not be moved to 
Montreal, so that he may have winters cold 
enough to afford more of sport than of slush, 
and more of downright winter fun than is possible 
amid the too-frequent dampness and the chilly east 
winds of the usual Boston winter. 




By Sydney Dayre. 

Where do they go, I wonder, 

The clouds on a cloudy day, 
When the shining sun comes peeping out 

And scatters them all away ? 
I know! — They keep them and cut them down 
For cross little girls who want a frown. 
Frowns and wrinkles and pouts — oh, my! 
How many 't would make — one cloudy sky ! 

I think 1 should like it better 

A sunshiny day to take 
And cut it down for dimples and smiles, — 

What beautiful ones 't would make ! 
Enough for all the dear little girls 
With pretty bright eyes and waving curls, 
To drive the scowls and frowns away. 
Just like the sun on a cloudy day. 


( Recollect tofts of a Page in tlie United States Setuite ) 

By Edmumd Alton. 

Chapter V. 

SECRET sessions. 

While the chief business and object of Congress 
is legislation, each House possesses certain other 
functions and privileges of great consequence. 
After I had been in the Senate a few days, 1 be- 
came acquainted with one of the special powers 
belonging exclusively to that body. 

The President of the United States is the head 
of the Government. He is the " Commander-in- 
Chief of the .Army and Navy of the United States, 
and of the Militia of the several States when called 
into the actual service of the United States." He 
is charged with the execution of the laws at home 

and the protection of our rights abroad. To 
properly perform this great trust, he has thousands 
of assistants, — cabinet ministers (or heads of de- 
partments) ; ambassadors, ministers, consuls, and 
other agents in foreign lands ; judges, attorneys, 
and a variety of civil officers. The law-makers 
have provided, by statute, that he may appoint 
many of these minor assistants without consulting 
the Senate ; the others, however, can only be 
appointed with the permission of a majority of 
the Senate, except during the recess of that body. 
For the welfare of the country and the advance- 
ment of its commercial and general interests in its 
intercourse with other nations, he has also author- 
ity, with the concurrence of two-thirds of the sen- 
ators, to make treaties with foreign powers, t 

*' Copyright, 1884, by Edmund Alton. AH rights reserved. 

t The Constitution, .Article IT., Sec. 2, cl. 2, declares as follows : " He shall have power, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, 
to make treaties, provided two-thirds of the senators present concur : and he shall nominate, and, by and with the advice and consent 
of the Senate, shall appoint ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, judges of the Supreme Court, and all other officers of 
the United Slates, whose appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by law ; but the Con- 
gress may by law vest the appointment of such inferior officers, as they think proper, in the President alone, in the courts of law, or in 
the heads of departments." 




If he wishes to appoint a man to an important 
position in the Federal service, he so notifies the 
Senate, stating the name of the person and the 
office which he desires him to occupy. This " nam- 
ing " of the person is termed a " nomination." As 
various official places are constantly becoming va- 
cant by the death, resignation, or discharge of the 
people holding them, a great number of these nom- 
inations are annually sent in to the Senate by the 

When it is found desirable to enter into a treaty, 
the President confers, through the Department of 
State, with the foreign ambassador or minister to the 
United States, or, by means of our own diplomatic 
agents abroad, with the home officials of such 
foreign power in their own country; an agreement 
satisfactory to each side is drawn up and signed by 
the representatives of the respective countries, and 
this agreement or draft of the treaty is trans- 
mitted by the President to the Senate. 

Whenever any of these nominations, or drafts 
of treaties, or any other confidential communica- 
tions are submitted by the President, the Senate 
considers them in what is known as 
"executive session," — that is, a 
session devoted to action 
upon messages from the 
President, — in which 
case the proceedings are 
secret, the galleries and 
floor being cleared of 
spectators, and the Sen- 
ate sitting with "closed 
doors." Only a few offi- 
cers in addition to the 
senators are allowed to 
remain in the Chamber. 
Even the pages are ex- 
cluded. All the doors 
leading to the Senate 
are shut and, together 
with the gallery-stairs, 
securely guarded against 
intruders. Those highly 
valued and confidential 
officials, Captain Bassett 
and Mr. Christie, then, ' 
for the time being, took 
upon themselves our duties 
within the Chamber, con- 
veying the messages to the various 
doors at which we were stationed in small relays. 
Instead of remaining at our proper posts, how- 
ever, we were more likely to be wandering up on 
the dome or in some other far-away place quite 
out of reach. An executive session was, with us, 
what a recess is to a school-boy, and we varied 
Vol. XII.-- 19. 

the monotony by promenading from door to door, 
changing stations with each other, racing up and 
down the corridors, catching ball on the portico, or 
doing such other things as might suggest them- 
selves. My post was in the vestibule at the most im- 
portant or main entrance, and we all used to de- 
light to assemble in that small space — with only 
the wooden doors separating us from the Senate 
Chamber — and, standing up in the marble niches 
and on the floor, " make the welkin ring." More 
than half of Mr. Christie's duty seemed to be to 


put his head through the door and tell us to keep 
quiet. I do not think our efforts were ever appre- 
ciated by the law-makers on the other side of the 
partition. In the goodness of our hearts, we had 
no other purpose than to give the senators a 




These executive matters are referred to commit- 
tees for examination in the same manner as legis- 
lative measures. For example — the nomination 
of a person as postmaster in a certain city, is 
referred to the Committee on Post-offices and 
Post-roads ; a nomination 
as judge, to the Commit- r 
tee on the Judiciary ; the r 
agreement or draft of a 
treaty to the Committee 
on Foreign Relations. 
The committees discuss 
the matter and report 
their views to the Senate 
in secret session. Some 
of the senators may not 
like the man nominated 
for a certain office and 
may oppose the " confir- 
mation" of the nomina- 
tion, as the approval or 
" advice and consent " 
of the Senate is styled. 
Then the friends and en- 
emies of the man have a 
debate over the matter. 
Of course, outsiders are 
not supposed to know 
what they say, but it is 
presumed that the ene- 
mies tell everj'thing they 
know or have heard 
against the man, to show' 
that he is unfit to hold 
the proposed office ; and 
his friends, as true friends 
should, show the falsity of 
the charges, or otherwise 
answer or dispose of them. 
A treaty goes through 
nearly the same course as 

a bill. A vote is then taken upon the confirmation 
of the nomination, or ratification of the treaty. If 
a majority vote in favor of the person, the President 
may appoint the man ; otherwise not. If two- 
thirds so vote in favor of the treaty, the treat)- is 
ratified by a "resolution of ratification," and, 
when also ratified by the proper foreign authority 
with whom it is made, the ratifications are ex- 
changed between the officials representing the two 
governments (either at Washington or such other 
place as may be named in the agreement), and the 
treaty becomes law, binding upon us and upon the 
other government. 

One day, shortly after my appointment, 1 
returned to the Senate Chamber, having been sent 
on a message to the House of Representatives. As 

I entered, I heard a great deal of bustle, and, 
looking up toward the galleries, I saw all the peo- 
ple going out. 1 supposed that the Senate had 
adjourned, and at once rushed for my awl and 
tape, and began to do what is called "filing." 


Every morning we distributed on the desks of the 
senators such bills, reports of committees, and 
other public documents as had been printed and 
received from the Government Printing-office. 
Having given the senators an opportunity to 
examine them (though few ever did so, after all 
our trouble), we joined these documents together 
with tape, arranged in their proper order, that 
each senator might have a complete set at his desk 
ready for use and reference. It was usual to attend 
to this every forenoon, filing the documents dis- 
tributed the preceding day; but when the Senate 
adjourned early in the afternoon, we would do as 
much of the work as we could that day, in order 
to have more leisure time to ourselves the follow- 
ing morning. 




It was my duty to attend to Senator Sumnei's 
files, and so, kneeling on the carpet, beside his 
desk, I was soon busily engaged, and did not pay 
any attention to what was going on about me. 
I had been at work there, I do not know how long, 
when, all of a sudden I was startled by some 
one catching hold of my ear, and, glancing up, 
I saw Senator Sumner gazing at me with evident 
curiosity. I noticed that the galleries were entirely 
empty, and that the doors were closed. I then heard 
somebody talking, and realized that business was 
being transacted in the Senate. 1 could not un- 
derstand it at all. The Senator continued to look 
quizzically at me, and finally asked what I was do- 
ing there. I told him. " Well," said he, "you 'd 
better get out of this as soon as you can," and, 
lifting me gently (!!!) up by the ear, he exhibited 
me to the surrounding senators. I was so small and 
had been so quiet that none of them had seen me, 
and they all smiled when I bobbed up so unexpec- 
tedly, like a Jack-in-the-Box. There was something 
in the air, though, like the mystic wh